s. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


RED  AND  BLACK 


BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


BROWN  STUDY,  THE 
COURT  OF  INQUIRY,  A 
INDIFFERENCE  OF  JULIET,  THE 
MRS.  RED  PEPPER 
RED  PEPPER  BURNS 
RED  PEPPER'S  PATIENTS 
ROUND  THE  CORNER  IN  GAY  STRBET 
SECOND  VIOLIN,  THE 
STRAWBERRY  ACRES 
TWENTY-FOURTH  OF  JUNE,  THE 
UNDER  THE  COUNTRY  SKY 
WITH  JULIET  IN  ENGLAND 


SHORT  STORIES  IN  SMALL  BOOK  FORM 


BROTHERLY  HOUSE 

ENLISTING  WIFE,  THE 

ON  CHRISTMAS  DAY  IN  THE  EVENING 

ON  CHRISTMAS  DAY  IN  THE  MORNING 

UNDER  THE  CHRISTMAS  STARS 

WHISTLING  MOTHER,  THE 


Jane  spread  them  out,  one  after  another,  till  half 
the  shop  was  covered 

(see  p.  26) 


RED  AND  BLACK 

BY 
GRACE  S.  RICHMOND 


Illustrated  by  Frances  Rogers 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1920 


COPYRIGHT,  IQIQ,  BY 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  ft  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF 

TRANSLATION  INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES, 

INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


corrmioHT,  1919.  BY  THB  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  ACROSS  THE  SPACE    ........  3 

II.  HEADLINES 17 

III.  No  ANAESTHETIC 31 

IV.  NOBODY  TO  SAY  A  PRAYER 48 

V.  PLAIN  AS  A  PIKESTAFF 63 

VI.  HIGH  LIGHTS 80 

VII.  RATHER  A  BIG  THING 99 

VIII.  SPENDTHRIFTS 117 

IX.  "BURN,  FIRE,  BURN!" 134 

X.  A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS 153 

XL  A  LONG  APRIL  NIGHT 174 

XII.  EVERYBODY  PLOTS 192 

XIII.  A  GREAT  GASH 212 

XIV.  SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER 233 

XV.  QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE 255 

XVI.  THE  ALTAR  OF  His  PURPOSE 276 

XVII.  No  OTHER  WAY .  291 

XVIII.  AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING 307 

XIX.  A  SCARLET  FEATHER 328 

XX.  A  HAPPY  WARRIOR 341 

XXL  A  PEAL  OF  BELLS 354 

XXII.  IN  His  NAME 370 

XXIII.  THE  TOWN  WAS  EMPTY  BEFORE      .    .    .  376 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Jane  spread  them  out  one  after  another,  till  half  the  shop 

was  covered" Frontispiece 

(See  page  26) 

FACING    PAGE 

"'You  can't — see  me  through,'  she  said,  'You — I've  no 

claim  on  you' " i  ia 

"  'I  suppose  no  surgeon  ever  owned  a  dull  axe.    Take  it 

and  put  up  the  knife  to  please  me'"         ....    230 

"  'So  here's  to  Dr.  Redfield  Pepper  Burns' "  .      .      .      .378 


RED  AND  BLACK 


RED  AND  BLACK 

CHAPTER  I 
ACROSS  THE  SPACE 

'"T^HEIR  first  sight  of  each  other — Red  and  Black — was 
-•-  across  the  space  which  stretches  between  pulpit  and 
pew.  It's  sometimes  a  wide  space,  and  impassable;  again, 
it's  not  far,  and  the  lines  of  communication  are  always 
open.  In  this  case,  neither  of  them  knew,  as  yet,  just 
what  the  distance  was. 

Black — Robert  McPherson  Black — if  you  want  his  full 
name,  had  been  a  bit  nervous  in  the  vestry  where  he  put 
on  his  gown.  He  had  been  preaching  only  five  years,  and 
that  in  a  Southern  country  parish,  when  a  visiting  commit 
tee  of  impressive  looking  men  had  come  to  listen  to  him — 
had  come  again — and  once  more — and  then  had  startled 
him  with  a  call  to  the  big  suburban  town  and  the  fine 
old,  ivy-grown  church  generally  known  as  the  "Stone 
Church." 

"But,  gentlemen,"  he  had  said,  swinging  about  quickly 
in  his  study  chair  when  Mr.  Lockhart,  the  chairman  of  the 
committee,  had  asked  him  if  he  would  consider  a  call — 
"I'm — I'm — why,  I'm  not  good  enough  for  you!" 

The  committee  had  smiled — it  was  quite  a  remarkable 
committee,  and  had  a  sense  of  humour.  At  least  Samuel 
Lockhart  had,  and  one  other  of  the  five  who  were  waiting 
upon  Mr.  Black  in  his  study  after  the  evening  service. 

3 


4  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Meaning  virtue — or  ability?"  inquired  the  chairman, 
with  his  friendly  smile. 

"Both.  You  see — well,  to  put  it  honestly — I'm  just 
a  country  boy  as  yet,  born  in  Scotland  and  brought  up  in 
your  South.  I  haven't  had  the  training " 

"Very  good  things  have  come  out  of  the  country — and 
Scotland — and  the  South,"  Mr.  John  Radway  had  sug 
gested.  "And  I  believe  you  are  a  graduate  of — a  perfectly 
satisfactory  college  and  seminary,  and  have  built  this 
church  up  from  desertion  to  popularity " 

Well,  they  had  had  it  out  on  those  lines,  and  others,  in 
the  next  hour,  the  committee  falling  more  and  more  in  love 
with  its  candidate — if  so  emotional  a  phrase  may  be  used 
of  the  feelings  stirred  in  the  breasts  of  five  middle-aged, 
steady-going,  sensible  men — as  they  watched  the  young 
man's  face  go  from  pale  to  red  and  back  again,  and  heard 
him  tell  them  not  only  what  he  thought  he  was  not,  but 
what  he  thought  they  might  not  be  either — in  so  frank  and 
winning  a  way  that  the  more  he  wasn't  sure  he'd  better 
come  the  surer  they  were  he  must! 

In  the  end  he  came — called  and  accepted,  after  the  mod 
ern  methods,  wholly  on  the  judgment  of  the  committee, 
for  he  had  refused  absolutely  and  finally  to  come  and 
preach  a  candidating  sermon.  So  when  he  emerged  from 
the  vestry  door,  on  that  first  May  Sunday,  he  faced  for 
the  first  time  his  newly  acquired  congregation,  and  the 
church  faced  for  the  first  time  its  minister-elect.  Which 
was  wholly  as  it  should  be,  and  the  result  was  a  tremen 
dously  large  audience,  on  tiptoe  with  interest  and  curiosity. 

Red  was  not  in  the  congregation  when  Black  first  came 
in  through  the  vestry  door.  Instead,  as  usual,  he  was 
racing  along  the  road  in  a  very  muddy  car,  trying  to  make 
four  calls  in  the  time  in  which  he  should  really  have  made 


ACROSS  THE  SPACE  5 

two,  because  his  wife  had  insisted  very  strenuously  that 
he  should  do  his  best  to  get  to  church  on  that  particular 
morning.  It  seemed  that  she  had  learned  that  the  new 
minister  was  from  the  South,  and  she,  being  a  Southerner, 
naturally  felt  an  instant  sense  of  loyalty.  It  was  mighty 
seldom  that  Red  could  ever  be  got  to  church,  not  so  much 
because  he  didn't  want  to  go — though  he  didn't,  really,  un 
less  the  man  he  was  to  hear  was  exceptionally  good — as  be 
cause  he  couldn't  get  around  to  it,  not  once  in  a  blue  moon 
— or  a  Sunday  morning  sun.  And  if,  by  strenuous  exertion, 
he  did  arrive  at  church,  there  was  one  thing  which  almost 
invariably  happened — so  what  was  the  use?  The  young 
usher  for  Doctor  Burns'  aisle  always  grinned  when  he  saw 
him  come  in,  because  he  knew  perfectly  that  within  a  very 
short  time,  he,  the  usher,  would  be  tiptoeing  down  the 
aisle  and  whispering  in  the  ear  below  the  heavy  thatch  of 
close-cropped,  fire-red  hair.  And  then  Doctor  Burns' 
attending  church  for  that  day  would  be  over. 

The  chances  seemed  fair,  however,  on  this  particular 
morning,  because  Red  did  not  come  into  church  till  the 
preliminary  service  was  well  along.  He  stole  in  while  the 
congregation  was  on  its  feet  singing  a  hymn,  so  his  entrance 
was  not  conspicuous;  but  Black  saw  him,  just  the  same. 
Black  had  already  seen  every  man  in  the  congregation, 
though  he  had  noted  individually  but  few  of  the  women. 
He  saw  this  big  figure,  stalwart  yet  well  set  up;  he  saw  the 
red  head — he  could  hardly  help  that — it  would  be  a  land 
mark  in  any  audience.  He  saw  also  the  brilliant  hazel 
eyes,  the  strong  yet  finely  cut  face.  To  put  it  in  a  word, 
as  Redfield  Pepper  Burns  came  into  the  crowded  church, 
his  personality  reached  out  ahead  of  him  and  struck  the 
man  in  the  pulpit  a  heavy  blow  over  the  heart.  Too 
strong  a  phrase  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  If  the  thing  has  never 


-6  RED  AND  BLACK 

happened  to  you,  then  you're  not  a  witness,  and  your  testi 
mony  doesn't  count.  But  plenty  of  witnesses  can  be 
found. 

Robert  Black  looked  down  the  aisle,  and  instantly  cov 
eted  this  man  for  a  friend.  "I've  got  to  have  you,"  he 
said  within  himself,  while  the  people  went  on  singing  the 
last  stanza  of  a  great  hymn.  "  I've  got  to  have  you  for 
a  friend.  \  don't  know  who  else  may  be  in  this  parish 
but  as  long  as  you're  here  there'll  be  something  worth  the 
very  best  I  can  do.  I  wonder  if  you'll  be  easy  to  get.  I 
— doubt  it." 

Now  this  was  rather  strange,  for  the  family  with  whom 
he  was  staying  while  the  manse  was  being  put  in  order  for 
the  new  minister  had  spoken  warmly  of  Doctor  Burns  as 
the  man  whom  they  always  employed,  plainly  showing 
their  affection  for  him,  and  adding  that  half  the  town 
adored  the  red-headed  person  in  question.  When  that 
red  head  came  into  church  late,  looking  as  professional  as 
such  a  man  can't  possibly  help  looking,  it  was  easy  enough 
for  Black  to  guess  that  this  was  Doctor  Burns. 

Across  the  space,  then,  they  faced  each  other,  these  two, 
whose  lives  were  to  react  so  powerfully,  each  upon  the 
other — and  only  one  of  them  guessed  it.  To  tell  the  truth, 
Red  was  more  than  a  little  weary  that  Sunday  morning; 
he  was  not  just  then  electrically  sensitive,  like  the  other 
man,  to  every  impression — he  was  not  that  sort  of  man, 
anyhow.  He  had  been  up  half  the  night,  and  his  hair- 
trigger  temper — which  had  inspired  the  nickname  he  had 
carried  from  boyhood — had  gone  off  in  a  loud  explosion 
within  less  than  an  hour  before  he  appeared  in  the  church. 
He  was  still  inwardly  seething  slightly  at  the  recollection, 
though  outwardly  he  had  returned  to  calm.  Altogether, 
he  was  not  precisely  in  a  state  of  mind  to  gaze  with  favour 


ACROSS  THE  SPACE  7 

upon  the  new  man  in  the  pulpit,  who  struck  him  at  once  as 
disappointingly  young.  He  had  been  told  by  somebody 
that  Robert  McPherson  Black  was  thirty-five,  but  his 
first  swift  glance  convinced  him  that  Robert  had  not 
been  strictly  truthful  about  his  age — or  else  had  encour 
aged  an  impression  that  anybody  with  half  an  eye  could 
see  was  a  wrong  one.  He  was  quite  evidently  a  boy — a 
mere  boy.  Burns  liked  boys — but  not  in  the  pulpit,  at 
tempting  to  take  charge  of  his  life  and  tell  him  what  to  do. 
Therefore  Red  looked  with  an  indifferent  eye  upon  the 
tall  figure  standing  to  read  the  Scriptures,  butacknowledged 
in  his  mind  that  the  youth  had  a  pleasing  face  and  per 
sonality — Red  liked  black  hair  and  eyes — he  had  married 
them,  and  had  never  ceased  to  prefer  that  colouring  to  any 
other.  He  admitted  to  himself  that  the  intonations  of 
Black's  voice  were  surprisingly  deep  and  manly  for  such 
a  boy — and  then  promptly  closed  his  mind  to  further 
impressions,  and  ran  his  hand  through  his  red  hair  and 
breathed  a  heavy  sigh  of  fatigue.  Vigorous  fellow  though 
he  was  at  forty  years,  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  get  an  oc 
casional  night's  sleep  to  even  things  up.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  his  wife's  urging  he  might  have  been  snatching  forty 
winks  this  minute  on  a  certain  comfortable  wide  daven 
port  at  home.  These  Southerners — how  they  did  hang 
together — and  Black  wasn't  a  real  Southerner,  either, 
having  spent  his  boyhood  in  Scotland.  Red  could  have 
heard  the  new  man  quite  as  well  next  Sunday — or  the  one 
after.  He  glanced  sidewise  at  his  wife,  and  his  irritation 
faded — as  it  always  did  at  the  mere  sight  of  her.  How 
lovely  she  was  this  morning,  in  her  quiet  church  attire. 
Bless  her  heart — if  she  wanted  him  there  he  was  glad  he 
had  come.  And  of  course  it  was  best  for  the  children 
that  they  see  their  father  in  church  now  and  then.  .  .  . 


8  RED  AND  BLACK 

But  he  hoped  the  boy  in  the  pulpit  would  not  make  too 
long  a  prayer — he,  Red,  was  so  deadly  sleepy,  he  might 
go  to  sleep  and  disgrace  Ellen.  It  wouldn't  be  the  first 
time. 

But  he  didn't  hear  the  prayer — and  not  because  he  went 
to  sleep.  It  was  during  the  offertory  sung  by  the  expensive 
quartette  (which  he  didn't  like  at  all  because  he  knew  the 
tenor  for  a  four  flusher  and  the  contralto  for  a  little  blonde 
fool,  who  sometimes  got  him  up  in  the  night  for  her  hys 
terics — though  he  admitted  she  could  sing),  that  the 
young  usher  came  tiptoeing  down  the  aisle  and  whispered 
the  customary  message  in  the  ear  beneath  the  red  thatch. 
Dr.  Redfield  Pepper  Burns  had  been  in  church  precisely 
eleven  minutes  this  time  before  being  called  out.  What 
in  thunder  was  the  use  of  his  coming  at  all?  He  gave  an 
I-told-you-so  look  at  his  wife  as  he  got  up  and  hung  his 
overcoat  on  his  arm  and  went  up  the  aisle  again,  his  com 
petent  shoulders  followed  by  the  disappointed  gaze  of 
Black  from  the  pulpit.  The  doors  closed  behind  him, 
and  the  young  usher  exhibited  his  watch  triumphantly 
to  another  young  usher,  making  signs  as  of  one  who  had 
won  a  bet.  Eleven  minutes  was  the  shortest  time  since 
February,  when  on  a  certain  remembered  Sunday  Burns 
had  never  got  to  his  seat  at  all,  but  had  been  followed 
down  the  aisle  by  the  usher  practically  on  a  run.  Some 
body  had  got  himself  smashed  up  by  a  passing  trolley  al 
most  outside  the  door  of  the  sanctuary.  Being  an  usher 
certainly  had  its  compensations  at  times. 

Yes,  Black  was  disappointed.  Of  course  he  faced  a  large 
and  interested  congregation,  and  everybody  knows  that  a 
minister  should  not  be  more  anxious  to  preach  to  one  man 
than  to  another.  Unfortunately,  being  quite  human,  he 
sometimes  is.  On  this  occasion,  having  suffered  that  blow 


ACROSS  THE  SPACE  9 

over  the  heart  before  mentioned,  he  had  found  himself 
suddenly  peculiarly  eager  to  speak  to  the  red-headed 
doctor — from  the  pulpit — and  convince  him  that  he  him 
self  was  not  as  young  as  he  looked — and  that  he  could  be  a 
very  good  friend.  Red  looked  to  him  like  the  sort  of  man 
who  needed  a  friend,  in  spite  of  all  Black's  hostess  had  said 
to  him  about  Burns'  popularity  and  his  enormous  profes 
sional  practice.  During  those  eleven  minutes,  through 
part  of  which  Black  had  been  at  leisure  to  glance  several 
times  at  Red,  he  had  received  the  distinct  impression 
that  he  was  looking  at  a  much  overworked  man,  who 
needed  certain  things  rather  badly — one  of  which  was  an 
other  man  who  was  not  just  a  good-fellow  sort  of  friend, 
but  one  who  understood  at  least  a  little  of  what  life  meant 
— and  what  it  ought  to  mean. 

Thus  thinking  Black  rose  to  make  his  prayer — the 
prayer  before  the  sermon.  His  thoughts  about  Red  had 
made  him  forget  for  a  little  that  he  was  facing  his  new 
congregation — and  that  was  a  good  thing,  for  it  had  taken 
away  most  of  his  nervousness.  And  after  the  prayer 
came  the  sermon — and  after  the  sermon  came  a  very 
wonderful  strain  of  music  which  made  Black  lift  his  head 
toward  the  choir  above  him  with  a  sense  of  deep  gratitude 
that  music  existed  and  could  help  him  in  his  task  like  that. 
At  this  time,  of  course,  he  didn't  know  about  the  "four- 
flusher"  tenor,  and  the  little  fool  of  a  blonde  contralto 
who  always  felt  most  like  smiling  at  the  moment  when  he 
was  preaching  most  earnestly.  When  he  did  know — 
well — in  the  end  there  were  two  new  members  of  that 
quartette. 

So  this  was  how  Black  and  Red  met  for  the  first  time — 
yet  did  not  meet.  Though,  after  the  seeing  of  Red  across 
the  as  yet  undetermined  distance  between  pulpit  and  pew, 


io  RED  AND  BLACK 

there  followed  a  thousand  other  impressions,  and  though 
after  the  service  Black  met  any  number  of  interesting  look 
ing  men  and  women  who  shook  his  hand  and  gave  him 
cordial  welcome,  the  memory  he  carried  away  with  him 
was  that  of  R.  P.  Burns,  M.D.,  as  the  man  he  must  at  any 
cost  come  to  know  intimately. 

As  for  Red — his  impression  was  another  story. 

"Well,  how  did  the  Kid  acquit  himself?"  he  inquired, 
when  he  met  his  family  at  the  customary  early  afternoon 
Sunday  dinner.  There  was  quite  a  group  about  the 
table,  for  his  wife's  sister,  Martha  Macauley,  her  husband, 
James  Macauley,  and  their  children  were  there.  All  these 
people  had  been  present  at  the  morning  service. 

Macauley,  ever  first  to  reply  to  any  question  addressed 
to  a  company  in  general,  spoke  jeeringly,  turning  his 
round,  good-humoured  face  toward  his  host: 

"Why  not  fee  young  Perkins  to  leave  you  in  your  pew 
for  once,  and  hear  for  yourself?  I've  known  you  turn 
down  plenty  of  calls  when  they  took  you-away  from  home, 
but,  come  to  think  of  it,  I  never  knew  you  to  refuse  to  cut 
and  run  from  church!" 

Burns  frowned.  "You're  not  such  a  devoted  worship 
per  yourself,  Jim,  that  you  can  act  truant  officer  and  get 
away  with  it.  If  you  knew  how  I  hated  to  move  out  of 
that  pew  this  morning " 

"Yes,  you'd  got  all  set  for  one  of  those  head-up  snoozes 
you  take  when  the  sermon  bores  you.  Well,  let  me  tell 
you,  if  you'd  stayed,  you  wouldn't  have  got  any  chance 
to  sleep.  He  may  be  a  kid — though  he  doesn't  look  so 
much  like  one  when  you  get  close — lines  in  his  face  if  you 
notice — he  may  be  a  kid,  but  he's  got  the  goods,  and  by 
George,  he  delivered  'em  this  morning  all  right.  Sleep! 
I  wasn't  over  and  above  wide  awake  myself  through  the 


ACROSS  THE  SPACE  n 

preliminaries,  but  I  found  myself  sitting  up  with  a  jerk 
when  he  let  go  his  first  bolt." 

"Bolt,  eh?"  Burns  began  to  eat  his  soup  with  relish. 
As  it  happened  he  had  had  no  time  for  breakfast,  and  this 
was  his  first  meal  of  the  day.  "Jolly,  this  is  good  soup!" 
he  said.  "Well! — I  thought  they  always  spoke  softly 
when  they  first  came,  and  only  fired  up  later.  Didn't  he 
begin  on  the  'Dear  Brethren,  I'm  pleased  to  be  with  you' 
line?  I  thought  he  looked  rather  conventional  myself — 
and  abominably  young.  I'm  not  fond  of  green  salad." 

"Green  salad!"  This  was  Martha  Macauley,  flushing 
and  indignant.  "Why,  he's  a  man,  Red,  and  a  very  fine 
one,  if  I'm  any  judge.  And  he  can  preach — oh,  how  he 
can  preach!" 

"I'm  not  asking  any  woman,  Marty."  Burns  gave  his 
sister-in-law  a  cynical  little  smile.  "Trust  any  woman 
to  fall  for  a  handsome  young  preacher  with  black  eyes 
and  a  good  voice,  whatever  he  says.  To  be  sure,  El 
len " 

"Oh,  yes — you  think  Ellen  is  the  only  woman  in  the 
world  with  any  sense.  Well,  let  me  tell  you  Len  'fell 
for  him,'  just  as  much  as  I  did — only  she  never  gives 
herself  away,  and  probably  won't  now,  if  you  ask  her." 

Burns'  eyes  met  his  wife's.  "Like  him,  eh,  Len?"  he 
asked.  "Did  the  black  eyes — and  his  being  a  Southerner 
— get  you,  too?" 

Mrs.  Redfield  Pepper  Burns  was  an  unusual  woman. 
If  she  had  not  been,  at  this  challenge,  she  would  have 
answered  one  of  two  things.  Either  she  would  have  said 
defiantly:  "I  certainly  did  like  him — why  shouldn't  I, 
when  Jim  did — and  he's  a  man!  Why  are  you  always 
prejudiced  against  ministers?"  or  she  would  have  said 
softly:  "If  you  had  heard  him,  dear,  I  think  you  would 


12  RED  AND  BLACK 

have  liked  him  yourself."  Instead  she  answered,  as  a 
man  might — only  she  was  not  in  the  least  like  a  man — 
"It's  hard  to  tell  how  one  likes  any  minister  at  first  sight. 
It's  not  the  first  sermon,  but  the  twentieth,  that  tells  the 
story.  And  plenty  of  other  things  besides  the  preach- 
ing." 

"But  you  certainly  got  a  good  first  impression,  Len?" 
Martha  cried,  at  the  same  moment  that  James  Macauley 
chuckled,  "My,  but  that  was  a  clever  stall!" 

Mrs.  Burns  smiled  at  her  husband,  whose  hazel  eyes 
were  studying  her  intently.  Red  never  ceased  to  wonder 
at  the  way  people  didn't  succeed  in  cornering  Ellen.  She 
might  find  her  way  out  with  a  smile  alone,  or  with  a  flash 
of  those  wonderful  black-lashed  eyes  of  hers,  but  find  her 
way  out  she  always  did.  She  found  it  now. 

"Mr.  Lockhart  told  me  confidentially  this  morning 
that  Mr.  Black  said  he  wasn't  good  enough  for  us.  So 
at  least  we  have  been  forewarned.  He'll  have  to  prore 
himself  against  his  own  admission." 

"Wasn't  good  enough,  eh?"  growled  Red  Pepper,  sud 
denly  and  characteristically  striking  fire.  "Did  he  think 
we  wanted  a 'good  one' — a  saint?  I  don't,  for  one.  My 
principal  objection  to  him,  without  having  heard  him,  is 
that  he  looks  as  if  his  mother  parted  his  hair  for  him  before 
he  came,  and  put  a  clean  handkerchief  in  his  pocket. 
Jolly — I  like  'em  to  look  less  like  poets  and  more  like  red- 
blooded  men !  Not  that  I  want  'em  beefy,  either.  Speak 
ing  of  beef — I'll  have  another  slice.  This  going  to  church 
takes  it  out  of  a  fellow. " 

Jim  Macauley  howled.  "Going  to  church!  Coming 
away,  you  mean.  Just  a  look-in,  for  yours.  As  to  the 
way  you  like  your  preachers,  my  private  opinion  is  you 
don't  like  'em  at  all." 


ACROSS  THE  SPACE  13 

"Mr.  Black  doesn't  look  like  a  poet,  Red."  It  was 
Martha  Macauley  again.  She  and  her  brother-in-law  sel 
dom  agreed  upon  any  topic.  "He  has  the  jolliest  twinkle 
in  those  black  eyes — and  his  hair  is  so  crisp  with  trying 
to  curl  that  it  doesn't  stay  parted  well  at  all — it  was  all 
rumpled  up  before  the  end  of  his  sermon.  And  he  has  a 
fine,  healthy  colour — and  the  nicest  smile " 

Burns  sighed.  "Jim,  suppose  there  was  a  man  up  for 
the  governorship  in  our  state,  and  we  went  around  talking 
about  his  eyes  and  his  hair  and  his  smile  1  Oh,  Christopher! 
Don't  you  women  ever  think  about  a  man's  brains  ? — 
what  he  has  in  his  head — not  on  it?" 

"It  was  you  who  began  to  talk  about  his  looks!"  Mrs 
Macauley  pointed  out  triumphantly. 

"Check!"  called  James,  her  husband.  "She  scores, 
Red!  You  did  begin  a  lot  of  pretty  mean  personal  ob 
servations  about  his  mother  parting  his  hair,  and  so  forth. 
Shame! — it  wasn't  sporting  of  you.  The  preacher  has 
brains,  brother — brains,  I  tell  you.  I  saw  'em  myself, 
through  his  skull.  And  he's  got  a  pretty  little  muscle, 
too.  When  he  gripped  my  hand  I  felt  the  bones  crack — 
and  me  a  golf  player.  I  don't  know  where  he  got  his 
— but  he's  got  it.  These  athletic  parsons — look  out  for 
'em.  They're  liable  to  turn  the  other  cheek,  according 
to  instructions  in  the  Scriptures,  and  then  hit  you  a  crack 
with  a  good  right  arm.  It  struck  me  this  chap  hadn't 
been  sitting  on  cushions  all  his  life.  You'll  outweigh  him 
by  about  fifty  pounds,  but  I'll  bet  he  could  down  you  in  a 
wrestling  match." 

"Yes,  and  I'll  bet  you'd  like  to  see  him  doiit,"  murmured 
Red  Pepper,  becoming  genial  again  under  the  influence 
of  his  second  cup  of  very  strong  coffee,  which  was  ban 
ishing  his  weariness  like  magic,  as  usual.  "Well,  you 


I4  RED  AND  BLACK 

won't  right  away,  because  we're  not  likely  to  get  to  that 
stage  of  intimacy  for  some  time.  Ministers  and  doctors 
meet  mostly  in  places  where  each  has  a  good  chance  to  crit 
icize  the  other's  job.  When  I  come  to  die  I'd  rather  have 
my  old  friend,  Max  Buller,  M.D.,  to  say  a  prayer  for  me — 
if  he  knows  how — than  any  preacher  who  ever  came  down 
the  pike — except  one,  and  that  was  a  corking  old  bishop 
who  was  the  best  sport  I  ever  met  in  my  life.  Oh,  it  isn't 
that  I  don't  respect  the  profession — I  do.  But  I  want  a 
minister  to  be  a  man  as  well,  and  I " 

"But  it  isn't  quite  fair  to  take  it  for  granted  that  he 
isn't  one,  is  it,  Red?"  inquired  the  charming  woman 
at  the  other  side  of  the  table  who  was  his  wife. 

James  Macauley  laughed.  "Innocent  of  not  being  a 
man  till  he's  proved  guilty,  eh,  Red?"  he  suggested. 
"You  know  I  really  have  quite  a  strong  suspicion  that 
this  particular  minister  is  a  regular  fellow.  The  way  he 
looked  me  in  the  eye — well — I  may  be  no  judge  of  men " 

"You're  not,"  declared  his  opponent,  frankly.  "Any 
chap  with  a  cheerful  grin  and  a  plausible  line  of  talk  can 
put  it  all  over  you.  You're  too  good-natured  to  live. 
Now  me — I'm  a  natural  born  cynic — I  see  too  many  faces 
with  the  mask  off  not  to  be.  I " 

"Yes,  you  !  You're  the  kind  of  cynic  who'd  sit  up  all 
night  with  a  preacher  or  any  other  man  you  happened  to 
hate,  and  save  his  life,  and  then  floor  him  the  first  time 
you  met  him  afterward  by  telling  him  you  hadn't  any  bill 
against  him  because  you  weren't  a  vet'rinary  and  didn't 
charge  for  treating  donkeys." 

"Call  that  a  joke — or  an  insult?"  growled  Red  Pepper; 
then  laughed  and  switched  the  subject. 

But  next  Sunday  he  did  not  see  fit  to  get  to  church 
at  all,  and  on  the  following  Sunday  he  couldn't  have 


ACROSS  THE  SPACE  15 

done  it  if  he'd  tried,  not  having  a  minute  to  breathe  in  for 
himself  while  fighting  like  a  fiend  to  keep  the  breath  of 
life  in  a  fellow-human.  And  between  times  he  caught 
not  a  sight  of  Robert  Black,  who,  however,  caught 
several  sights  of  him.  R.  P.  Burns  was  in  the  habit  of 
driving  with  his  face  straight  ahead,  to  avoid  bowing 
every  other  minute  to  his  myriad  acquaintances  and  pa 
tients.  Though  Black  tried  very  hard  more  than  once 
to  catch  his  eye  when  passing  him  close  by  the  curb,  he 
had  a  view  only  of  the  clean-cut  profile,  the  lips  usually 
close  set,  the  brows  drawn  over  the  intent  eyes.  For 
Red  was  accustomed  to  think  out  his  operative  cases  while 
on  the  road,  and  when  a  man  is  mentally  making  incisions, 
tying  arteries,  and  blocking  out  the  shortest  cut  to  a  cure, 
he  has  little  time  to  be  recognizing  passing  citizens,  not  to 
mention  a  preacher  whom  he  persists  in  considering  too 
much  of  a  "kid"  for  his  taste,  in  the  pulpit  or  out  of  it. 

But  Black,  as  you  have  been  told,  was  of  Scottish  blood, 
and  a  Scot  bides  his  time.  Black  meant  to  know  Red,  and 
know  him  well.  He  was  pretty  sure  that  the  way  to  know 
him  was  not  to  go  and  hang  around  his  oifice,  or  to  call 
upon  his  wife  with  Red  sure  to  be  away — as  Black  dis 
covered  he  always  was,  in  ordinary  calling  hours.  He 
knew  he  couldn't  go  and  lay  his  hand  on  Red's  shoulder 
at  a  street  corner  and  tell  him  he  wanted  to  know  him.  In 
fact,  neither  these  nor  any  other  of  the  ordinary  methods 
of  bringing  about  an  acquaintance  with  a  man  as  a  prelimi 
nary  to  a  friendship  seemed  to  him  to  promise  well.  The 
best  he  could  do  was  to  wait  and  watch  an  opportunity, 
and  then — well — if  he  could  somehow  do  something  to 
help  Red  out  in  a  crisis,  or  even  to  serve  him  in  some  really 
significant  way  without  making  any  fuss  about  it,  he  felt 
that  possibly  the  thing  he  desired  might  come  about. 


16  RED  AND  BLACK 

Meanwhile — that  blow  over  the  heart  which  he  had  re 
ceived  at  the  first  sight  of  the  big  red-headed  doctor  con 
tinued  to  make  itself  felt.  Therefore,  while  Black  went 
with  a  will  at  all  the  new  duties  of  his  large  parish,  and 
made  friends  right  and  left — particularly  with  his  men, 
because  he  liked  men  and  found  it  easier  to  get  on  with 
them  than  with  women — he  did  not  for  a  day  relax  his 
watch  for  the  time  when  he  should  send  a  counter  blow  in 
under  the  guard  which  he  somehow  felt  was  up  against 
him,  or  forget  to  plan  to  make  it  a  telling  one  when  he 
should  deliver  it. 


CHAPTER  II 

HEADLINES 

HARPS  and  voices!"  ejaculated  Robert  Black,  quite 
unconscious  of  the  source  of  his  poetic  expletive, 
"how  are  my  poor  little  two  hundred  and  thirty-one 
books  going  to  make  any  kind  of  a  showing  here?" 

Small  wonder  that  he  looked  dismayed.  He  had  just 
caught  his  first  sight  of  the  dignified  manse  study,  with 
its  long  rows  of  empty  black  walnut  bookcases  stretching, 
five  shelves  high,  across  three  sides  of  the  large  room. 
The  manse,  fortunately  for  a  bachelor,  was  furnished 
as  to  the  main  necessities  of  living,  but  it  wanted  all  the 
details  which  go  to  make  a  home.  Though  the  study  con 
tained  a  massive  black  walnut  desk  and  chair,  a  big 
leather  armchair,  a  luxurious  leather  couch,  and  a  very 
good  and  ecclesiastically  sombre  rug  upon  its  floor,  it 
seemed  bare  enough  to  a  man  who  had  lately  left  a  warm 
little  room  of  nondescript  furnishing  but  most  homelike 
atmosphere.  To  tell  the  truth,  Black  was  feeling  some 
thing  resembling  a  touch  of  homesickness  which  seemed 
to  centre  in  an  old  high-backed  wooden  rocking-chair 
cushioned  with  "Turkey  red."  He  was  wondering  if  he 
might  send  for  that  homely  old  chair,  and  if  he  should,  how 
it  would  look  among  these  dignified  surroundings.  He 
didn't  care  a  picayune  how  it  might  look — he  decided  that 
he  simply  had  to  have  it  if  he  stayed.  Which  proved  that 
it  really  was  homesickness  for  his  country  parish  which 


18  RED  AND  BLACK 

had  attacked  him  that  morning.  Why  not?  Do  you 
think  him  less  of  a  man  for  that? 

"Oh,  yours'll  go  quite  a  way!"  young  Tom  Lockhart 
assured  him  cheerfully.  "And  you  can  use  the  rest  of  the 
space  for  magazines  and  papers." 

"Thanks!"  replied  Black,  rather  grimly  grateful  for 
this  comforting  suggestion.  He  and  the  twenty-year-old 
son  of  his  hostess  had  become  very  good  friends  in  the 
two  days  which  had  elapsed  since  Black's  arrival.  He  had 
an  idea  that  Tom  was  going  to  be  a  distinct  asset  in  the 
days  to  come.  The  young  man's  fair  hair  and  blue  eyes 
were  by  no  means  indicative  of  softness — being  counter 
acted  by  a  pugnacious  snub  nose,  a  chin  so  positive  that  it 
might  easily  become  a  menace,  and  a  grin  which  decidedly 
suggested  impishness. 

"I'll  help  unpack  these,  if  you  like." 

Tom  laid  hold  of  the  books  with  a  will.  Black,  his  coat 
off,  set  them  up,  thereby  indisputably  demonstrating  that 
two  hundred  and  thirty-one  volumes,  even  though  a  round 
two  dozen  of  them  be  bulky  with  learning,  certainly  do 
fill  an  inconceivably  small  space. 

"Well,  anyhow,"  he  said,  resting  from  his  labours,  and 
determinedly  turning  away  from  the  embarrassing  testi 
mony  of  the  bookshelves  as  to  his  resources,  to  the  invita 
tion  of  the  massive  desk  to  be  equipped  with  the  proper 
appliances  to  work,  "a  few  pictures  and  things  will  help 
to  make  it  look  as  if  somebody  lived  here.  I've  several 
pretty  good  photographs  and  prints  I  thought  I'd  frame 
when  I  got  here — I've  been  saving  them  up  for  some 
time." 

He  exhibited  the  collection  with  pride — they  had  lain 
across  the  top  of  the  books.  Tom  Lockhart  hung  over 
them  critically. 


HEADLINES  19 

"They're  bully!"  was  his  judgment.  "Not  a  bit 
what  I'd  have  expected.  Not  a  saint  or  a  harp  among 
'em.  Oh,  gee! — that  horse  race  is  great!  Where'd  you 
get  that  ?  I  mean — it's  foreign,  isn't  it  ? " 

Black  laughed.  "That's  just  a  bit  of  a  hurdle  race  we 
had  in  a  little  town  down  South.  I'm  on  one  of  those 
horses." 

"You  are!  Oh,  yes — I  see — on  the  front  one!  Why, 
say — "  he  turned  to  Black,  enthusiasm  lighting  his  face — 
"you're  one  of  those  regular  horse-riding  Southerners. 
This  is  on  your  family  estate,  I'll  wager." 

Black's  face  flushed  a  little,  but  his  eyes  met  the  boy's 
frankly.  "I  was  born  in  Scotland,  and  came  over  here 
when  I  was  sixteen.  I  worked  for  the  man  who  lived  in 
that  house  back  there  at  the  left.  He  let  me  ride  his 
horses.  I  broke  the  black  one  for  him — and  rode  him  to  a 
finish  in  that  race.  I  was  only  seventeen  then." 

Tom  stared  for  a  minute  before  his  manners  came 
to  the  rescue.  "That's  awfully  interesting,"  he  said  then, 
politely.  Black  could  see  the  confusion  and  wonderment 
in  his  mind  as  plainly  as  if  the  boy  had  given  expression 
to  it.  If  the  information  had  let  Tom  down  a  little, 
the  next  instant  he  rallied  to  the  recognition  that  here  was 
a  man  out  of  the  ordinary.  Tom  was  not  a  snob,  but  he 
had  never  before  heard  a  minister  own  to  "working"  for 
anybody,  and  it  had  startled  him  slightly.  But  when  he 
regarded  Black,  he  saw  a  man  who,  while  he  looked  as  if 
he  had  never  worked  for  anybody,  had  not  hesitated  to 
declare  that  he  had.  Tom  thought  he  liked  the  com 
bination. 

"If  you  could  tell  me  of  a  good  place  to  get  these 
framed,"  Black  said,  gathering  up  the  photographs  and 
prints  as  he  spoke,  "I  believe  I'll  have  it  done  right  away. 


2c  RED  AND  BLACK 

It's  the  one  thing  that'll  make  this  big  house  seem  a  little 
more  like  home." 

"That's  right.  And  I  can  tell  you  a  peach  of  a  place — 
in  fact  I'll  take  you  there,  if  you  want  to  go  right  now. 
It's  on  our  way  back  home.  By  the  way — "  young 
Tom  glanced  round  the  big  bare  room — "if  there's  any 
stuff  you  want  to  get  for  the  house  to  give  it  a  kind  of  a 
jolly  air,  you  know,  you'll  find  it  right  there,  at  Jane  Ray's. 
She  can  advise  you,  too." 

"I  don't  suppose  I'll  get  anything  but  the  frames," 
Black  answered  cautiously,  as  the  two  went  out  together. 
He  had  received  an  advance  on  his  new  salary,  and  there 
fore  he  had  more  money  in  his  pocket  than  he  had  ever  had 
before  at  one  time,  but  he  was  too  much  in  the  habit  of 
needing  to  count  every  penny  to  think  of  starting  out 
to  buy  anything  not  strictly  necessary.  And  already  he 
knew  Tom  for  the  usual  careless  spender,  the  rich  man's 
son.  Very  likely,  he  thought,  this  place  to  which  Tom  was 
to  take  him  was  the  most  expensive  place  in  the  suburban 
town.  On  second  thought,  he  decided  to  take  along  only 
two  of  his  pictures — till  he  knew  the  prices  he  must  pay. 

It  had  not  been  a  particularly  busy  morning  for  Jane 
Ray.  She  was  occupied  with  only  one  customer  at  the 
moment  when  Robert  Black  and  young  Thomas  Lockhart 
came  down  the  side  street  upon  which  fronted  her  shop — 
a  side  street  down  which  many  feet  were  accustomed  to 
turn,  in  search  of  Jane  and  her  wares. 

The  customer  with  whom  she  was  occupied  stood  with 
her  at  the  rear  of  the  shop  before  several  specimens  of 
antique  desks  and  chairs.  All  about  were  other  pieces, 
some  of  them  proclaiming  themselves  rather  rare.  Jane 
Ray  herself  also  looked  rather  rare — for  a  shopkeeper, 


HEADLINES  21 

inasmuch  as  she  did  not  look  like  a  shopkeeper  at  all, 
though  the  chaste  severity  of  her  business  attire  rivalled 
that  of  her  latest  acquired  possession  over  which  that 
morning  she  was  gloating — a  genuine  Adam  mirror.  This 
mirror  reflected  faithfully  Jane's  smooth,  chestnut  brown 
head,  her  slightly  dusky  skin  with  an  underlying  tinge  of 
pink,  her  dark  eyes  which  held  a  spice  of  mischief  in  spite 
of  their  cool  alertness  of  glance,  her  faintly  aggressive 
chin — which  meant  that  she  could  argue  with  you  about 
the  value  of  her  goods  and  hold  her  own,  and  in  the  end 
convince  you,  without  making  you  unhappy  about  it — 
which  is  a  rare  accomplishment,  especially  in  so  young  a 
woman  as  was  Miss  Ray. 

Robert  Black  and  Tom,  the  latter  self-constituted  guide 
to  furnishing  a  manse  with  what  might  be  called  its  super 
fluous  necessities,  entered  the  shop  and  stood  waiting. 
Jane  saw  them  in  her  Adam  mirror,  but  she  continued  to 
discuss  with  her  other  customer  the  relative  merits  of  a 
Chippendale  desk  having  all  manner  of  hidden  springs 
and  drawers  in  it,  with  those  of  a  Sheraton  pouch-table, 
a  work-table  with  a  silken  bag  beneath  it,  and  essentially 
feminine  in  its  appeal.  The  customer  was  making  a  pres 
ent  to  his  wife,  and  had  fled  to  Jane  in  this  trying  emer 
gency — as  did  many  another  man.  Jane  always  knew. 

"Isn't  this  some  place?"  murmured  young  Lock- 
hart,  proudly,  hanging  over  a  glass  show-case  on  a  cherry 
gate-table.  "Ever  get  into  a  woman's  shop  that  catered 
to  men  like  this  one?  Look  at  this  case  of  pipes — aren't 
they  stunners?  She  knows  all  there  is  to  know  about 
every  last  thing  she  sells,  and  what's  more,  she  never  keeps 
anything  but  good  stuff.  Some  of  it's  pretty  rare,  and  all 
of  it's  corking.  Look  at  those  cats'  eyes!" 

But  Black  had  caught  sight  of  certain  headlines  in  a 


22  RED  AND  BLACK 

New  York  daily  lying  beside  the  case  of  semi-precious 
stones  which  had  attracted  Tom.  It  was  a  late  morning 
edition,  and  this  suburban  town  lay  too  far  from  New 
York  for  the  later  morning  editions  to  reach  it  before  early 
afternoon — anyhow,  they  were  not  to  be  had  at  the  news 
stands  before  two  o'clock,  as  Black  had  discovered  yester 
day.  He  seized  the  paper,  wondering  how  this  woman 
shopkeeper  had  achieved  the  impossible.  He  was  a  vora 
cious  reader  of  war-news,  this  Scotsman  by  blood  and 
American  to  the  last  loyal  drop  of  it.  But  he  was  not  sat 
isfied  with  America's  part  in  the  great  conflict.  For  this 
was  April,  nineteen  sixteen,  and  the  thing  had  been  going 
on  for  almost  two  years. 

He  devoured  the  black  headlines. 

"NO  BREAK  IN  THE  FRENCH  LINES  YET. 

SEVENTH  WEEK  OF  THE  STRUGGLE  AT  VERDUN 

TOTAL  GAIN  ONLY  FOUR  TO  FIVE  MILES 

ON  A  THIRTY-FIVE  MILE  FRONT." 

He  flamed  into  low,  swift  speech,  striking  the  paper 
before  him  with  his  fist.  Tom,  listening,  forgot  to  gaze 
upon  the  contents  of  the  case  before  him. 

"Those  French — aren't  they  magnificent?  Why 
aren't  we  there,  fighting  by  their  sides?  Oh,  we'll  get 
there  yet,  but  it's  hard  to  wait.  Think  of  those  fellows — 
holding  on  two  long,  anxious  years!  And  they  came  over 
here — Lafayette  and  the  rest — and  poured  out  their  blood 
and  their  money  for  us.  And  we  think  we're  doing  some 
thing  when  we  send  them  a  little  food  and  some  tobacco 
to  buck  up  on!" 

"I  say — do  you  want  to  fight — a  minister?  Why,  I 
thought  all  your  profession  asked  for  was  peace!"  Young 


HEADLINES  23 

Tom's  tone  was  curious.  He  did  not  soon  forget  the  look 
in  the  face  of  the  man  who  answered  him. 

"Peace!  We  do  want  peace — but  not  peace  without 
honour!  And  no  minister  fit  to  preach  preaches  anything 
like  that!  Don't  think  it  of  us!" 

"Well,  I  used  to  hear  Doctor  Curtin — the  man  before 

you.  He  seemed  to  think But  I  didn't  agree  with 

him,"  Tom  hastened  to  say,  suddenly  deciding  it  best  not 
to  quote  the  pacific  utterances  of  the  former  holder  of  the 
priestly  office.  "I  thought  we  ought  to  go  to  it.  If  this 
country  ever  does  get  into  it — though  Dad  thinks  it'll  all  be 
settled  this  year — you  bet  I'll  enlist." 

"Enlist!  I  should  say  so!"  And  Black  took  up  the 
paper  again,  eagerly  reading  aloud  the  account  which  fol 
lowed  the  headlines  of  the  sturdy  holding  of  the  fiercely 
contested  ground  at  Verdun — that  name  which  will  be  re 
membered  while  the  world  lasts. 

He  looked  up  at  length  to  find  that  the  other  customer 
had  gone,  and  that  Miss  Ray,  the  shopkeeper,  had  come 
forward.  He  looked  into  a  face  which  reflected  his  own 
pride  in  the  French  prowess,  and  forgot  for  the  instant  that 
he  had  come  to  buy  of  her  or  that  she  was  there  to  sell. 

"It's  great,  isn't  it — the  way  they  are  holding?"  she 
said,  in  a  pleasant,  low  voice. 

"Great? — it's  glorious!  By  the  way — how  do  you  get 
hold  of  this  late  edition  so  early?" 

"Have  it  sent  up  by  special  messenger  from  the  city. 
Otherwise  it  would  be  held  over  with  the  rest  of  the  papers 
till  the  two  o'clock  train." 

Tom  broke  in.  "  Pretty  clever  of  you,  7  say,  Miss  Ray. 
Just  like  the  rest  of  your  business  methods — always  ahead 
of  the  other  fellow!" 

"Thank   you,   Mr.   Lockhart,"   Miss   Ray   answered. 


24  RED  AND  BLACK 

"It  wouldn't  do  to  let  one's  methods  become  as  antique 
as  one's  goods  in  this  case,  would  it?" 

"Miss  Ray,  I  want  to  present  my  friend,  Mr.  Black. ' 
Tom  forgot  his  new  friend's  title  as  he  made  this  in 
troduction,  but  of  course  it  didn't  matter.  Though  Miss 
Ray  seldom  attended  church  anywhere,  she  could  hardly 
fail,  in  the  talkative  suburban  town,  to  know  that  at 
the  "Stone  Church"  there  was  a  new  man.  "He  wants 
to  get  some  of  his  pictures  framed,  and  of  course  I  led 
him  here,"  added  Tom,  with  his  boyish  grin.  He  looked 
at  Miss  Ray  with  his  usual  frankly  admiring  gaze.  No 
doubt  but  she  was  worth  it.  Not  often  does  a  woman 
shopkeeper  achieve  the  subtle  effect  of  being  a  young 
hostess  in  her  own  apartments  as  did  Jane  Ray.  And,  as 
every  woman  shopkeeper  knows,  that  is  the  highest,  as 
't  is  the  most  difficult,  art  of  shopkeeping. 

She  scanned  the  pictures — one  that  of  the  hurdle  race, 
the  other  a  view  of  a  country  road,  with  a  white  spired 
church  in  the  distance.  In  no  time  she  had  them  fitted 
into  precisely  the  right  frames,  these  enhancing  their 
values  as  well-chosen  frames  do.  Delighted  but  still 
cautious,  Black  inquired  the  prices.  Miss  Ray  mentioned 
them,  adding  the  phrase  with  which  he  was  familiar,  "with 
the  clerical  discount." 

"Thank  you!"  acknowledged  Black.  "What  are  they 
without  the  discount,  please?" 

Miss  Ray  glanced  at  him.  "I  am  accustomed  to  give 
it,"  she  observed. 

"I  am  accustomed  not  to  take  it,"  said  the  Scotsman, 
firmly.  "  But  I'm  just  as  much  obliged." 

She  smiled,  and  told  him  the  regular  price.  He  counted 
this  out,  expressed  his  pleasure  in  having  found  precisely 
what  he  wanted,  and  led  the  way  out. 


HEADLINES  25 

Jane  Ray  looked  after  his  well-set  shoulders,  noting 
that  he  did  not  put  his  hat  upon  his  close-cut,  inclined-to- 
be-wirily-curly  black  hair  until  he  had  reached  the  street. 
Then  she  looked  down  at  the  money  in  her  hand. 
"Wouldn't  take  a  discount — and  didn't  ask  me  to  come 
to  his  church,"  she  commented  to  herself.  "Must  be 
rather  a  new  sort."  She  then  promptly  dismissed  him 
from  her  thoughts — until  later  in  the  day,  when  the  mem 
ory  was  brought  back  to  her  by  another  incident. 

It  was  well  along  in  the  afternoon,  and  she  had  just 
sold  a  genuine  Eli  Terry  "grandfather"  clock  at  a  fair 
profit,  and  had  bargained  for  and  secured  several  very 
beautiful  pieces  of  Waterford  glass  which  she  had  long 
coveted.  A  succession  of  heavy  showers  had  cleared  her 
shop,  and  she  had  found  time  to  open  a  long  roll  which  the 
expressman  had  delivered  in  the  morning,  when  the  shop 
door  admitted  a  person  to  whom  she  turned  an  eager 
face. 

"Oh,  I'm  glad  it's  you!"  she  said.  "Come  and  see 
what  I  have  now  !" 

"Nothing  doing,"  replied  R.  P.  Burns,  M.D.,  with, 
however,  a  smile  which  belied  his  words.  "I  want  a 
present  for  a  sick  baby  I'm  going  to  fix  up  in  the  morning. 
One  of  those  painted  Russian  things  of  yours — the  last 
boy  went  crazy  over  'em.  No  time  for  antiques." 

"This  isn't  an  antique — it's  the  last  word  from  the 
front,  and  you'll  go  crazy  over  it"  replied  Miss  Ray. 
Nevertheless  she  left  the  roll  and  went  to  a  corner  in  the 
back  of  the  shop  given  over  to  all  sorts  of  foreign  made  and 
fascinating  wooden  toys.  She  selected  a  bear  with  a 
wide  smile  and  feet  which  walked,  and  a  gay-hued  parrot 
on  a  stick,  and  took  them  to  the  big  man  who  was  waiting, 
like  Mercury,  poised  on  an  impatient  foot.  While  he 


26  RED  AND  BLACK 

counted  out  the  change  she  slipped  over  to  her  roll  of 
heavy  papers,  took  out  one,  and  when  he  looked  up  again 
it  was  straight  into  a  great  French  war  poster  held  at 
the  length  of  Jane's  extended  arms.  He  stared  hard  at  it, 
and  well  he  might,  for  it  was  by  one  of  the  most  famous 
of  French  artists,  whose  imagination  had  been  flaming 
with  the  vision  of  the  desperate  day. 

"Well,  by  Joe!"  Burns  ejaculated,  his  hurry  forgot. 
"I  say " 

The  poster's  owner  waited  quietly,  lost  to  view  behind 
the  big  sheet.  Burns  studied  every  detail  of  the  picture, 
losing  no  suggestion  indicated  by  the  clever  lines  of  the 
inspired  pencil.  It  was  only  a  rough  sketch,  impression 
istic  to  the  last  degree,  yet  holding  unspoken  volumes  in 
each  bold  outline.  Then  he  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  he  asked,  as  Jane  lowered  the 
poster.  His  eye  went  back  to  the  roll  lying  half  opened  on 
a  mahogany  table  near  by. 

"They  were  sent  over  by  an  officer  I  know — straight 
from  Paris.  That  isn't  the  most  wonderful  one  by  half, 
but  I  want  you  to  see  the  rest  when  you're  not  so  rushed 
for  time." 

"I'm  not  particularly  rushed,"  replied  Burns,  with  a 
grin.  "At  least,  I  can  stop  if  you've  any  more  like  this. 
I  have  to  tear  in  and  out  of  your  place,  you  know,  because 
there's  always  some  idiot  lurking  behind  one  of  your 
screens  to  leap  out  and  ask  me  searching  questions  about 
patients.  If  you'll  bar  your  doors  to  the  public  some  day, 
I'll  come  and  spend  an  hour  gazing  at  your  stuff.  Let's 
see  the  posters,  please." 

Jane  spread  them  out,  one  after  another,  till  half  the 
shop  was  covered.  Burns  walked  from  poster  to  poster, 
intent,  frowning  with  interest,  his  quick  intelligence  recog- 


HEADLINES  27 

nizing  the  extraordinary  impressions  he  was  getting,  his 
own  imagination  firing  under  the  stimulus  of  an  art  at  its 
marvellous  best.  Before  one  of  the  smaller  posters  he 
lingered  longest — a  wash  drawing  in  colour  of  a  poilu 
holding  his  child  in  his  arms,  with  its  mother  looking  into 
his  face. 

"He's  just  a  kid,  that  fellow,"  he  said,  in  a  smothered 
tone,  "just  a  kid,  but  he's  giving  'em  both  up.  He  won't 
come  back — somehow  you  know  that.  And — it  doesn't 
seem  to  matter,  if  he  helps  save  his  country.  See  here — 
you  ought  to  do  something  with  these.  If  the  people  of 
this  town  could  see  them,  a  few  more  of  them  might  wake 
up  to  the  idea  that  there's  a  war  on  somewhere." 

"As  soon  as  some  English  ones  come  I've  sent  for  I 
intend  to  have  an  exhibition,  here  in  my  shop,  and  sell 
them — for  the  benefit  of  French  and  Belgian  orphans.  I 
expect  to  get  all  kinds  of  prices.  Will  you  auction  them 
off  for  me?" 

"You  bet  I  will — if  I  can  do  it  explosively  enough.  I'd 
do  anything  on  earth  for  a  little  chap  like  that."  He  in 
dicated  a  wistful  Belgian  baby  at  the  edge  of  a  group  of 
children.  "Here  are  our  youngsters,  fed  up  within  an 
inch  of  their  lives,  and  these  poor  little  duffers  living  on 
scraps,  and  too  few  of  those.  Oh,  what  a  contrast!  As 
for  ourselves — we  come  around  and  buy  antiques  to  make 
our  homes  more  stunning!" 

He  looked  her  in  the  eye,  and  she  looked  steadily  back. 
Then  she  went  over  to  an  impressive  Georgian  desk, 
opened  a  drawer  and  took  out  a  black-bound  book.  Re 
turning,  she  silently  held  it  out  to  him.  It  was  a  text  book 
on  nursing,  one  of  those  required  in  a  regulation  hospital 
course. 

"Eh?    What?"  he  ejaculated,  taking  the  book.  "Study- 


28  RED  AND  BLACK 

ing,  are  you — all  by  yourself?  How  far  are  you?"  He 
flipped  the  pages.  "I  see.  Are  you  serious? — You,  a 
successful  business  woman?  What  do  you  want  to  do  it 
for?" 

"Absolutely  serious.  This  country  will  go  into  the 
war  some  day — it  must,  or  I  can't  respect  it  any  more. 
And  when  it  does — well,  keeping  an  antique  shop  will  be 
the  deadest  thing  there  is.  I'll  nail  up  the  door  and  go 
'over  there.'" 

"And  not  to  collect  curios  this  time?"  His  bright 
hazel  eyes  were  studying  her  intently. 

"Hardly.  To  be  of  use,  if  I  can.  I  thought  the  more 
I  knew  of  nursing " 

"You  can't  get  very  far  alone,  you  know." 

"I  can  get  far  enough  so  that  when  I  do  manage  to  take 
a  course  I  can  rush  it — can't  I  ?" 

"Don't  know — hard  to  cut  any  red  tape.  But  all 
preparation  counts,  of  course.  Well — I'll  give  you  a  ques 
tion  to  answer  that'll  show  up  what  you  do  know." 

He  proceeded  to  do  this,  considering  for  a  minute,  and 
then  firing  at  her  not  one  but  a  series  of  interrogations. 
These  were  not  unkindly  technical,  but  designed  to  test 
her  practical  knowledge  of  the  pages — which  according  to 
the  marker  he  had  found— she  had  evidently  lately  fin 
ished.  The  answers  she  gave  him  appeared  to  satisfy  him, 
though  he  did  not  say  so.  Instead,  closing  the  book  with 
a  snap,  he  said: 

'When  you  sail  my  wife  and  I  will  be  on  the  same  ship. 
We'd  be  there  now  if  we  had  our  way — it's  all  we  talk 
about.  Well " 

And  he  was  about  to  say  that  he  must  hurry  like  mad 
now  to  make  up  for  time  well  lost,  when  the  shop  door 
opened  tc  admit  out  of  a  sharp  dash  of  rain  a  customer 


HEADLINES  29 

who  was  trying  to  shelter  a  flat  package  beneath  his  coat. 
For  the  second  time  that  day  Robert  Black  was  bringing 
pictures  to  be  framed;  in  fact,  they  were  the  rest  of  the  pile 
which  he  had  not  ventured  to  bring  the  first  time,  lest  Miss 
Ray's  prices  be  too  high  for  him. 

Red  gave  him  one  look,  and  would  have  fled,  but  Black 
did  not  make  for  the  big  doctor  with  outstretched  hand — 
in  fact,  he  did  not  seem  to  see  him.  At  the  very  front  of 
the  shop  stood  a  particularly  distinguished  looking  Hepple- 
white  sideboard,  its  serpentine  front  exquisitely  inlaid 
with  satinwood,  its  location  one  to  catch  the  eye.  It 
caught  Black's  eye — but  not  because  of  any  cunning 
design  of  maker  or  shopkeeper.  Having  filled  the  avail 
able  space  in  the  rear  of  the  shop  with  her  war  posters, 
Jane  had  worked  toward  the  front,  and  the  last  and  most 
splendid  of  them  she  had  propped  upon  the  sideboard. 
In  front  of  it  Black  now  came  to  a  standstill,  and  Red, 
intending  to  leave  the  place  in  haste  at  sight  of  the  min 
ister  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  meet,  involuntarily  paused 
to  note  the  effect  upon  the  "Kid" — as  he  persisted  in 
calling  him — of  the  poster's  touchingly  convincing  appeal. 

It  was  a  drawing  in  black  and  white  of  a  French  mother 
taking  leave  of  her  son,  that  subject  which  has  employed 
so  many  clever  pens  and  brushes  since  the  war  began,  but 
than  which  there  is  none  more  universally  powerful  in  its 
importunity.  The  indomitable  courage  in  the  face  of  the 
Frenchwoman  had  in  it  a  touch  beyond  that  of  the  ordi 
nary  artist  to  convey — one  could  not  analyze  it,  but  it 
gripped  the  heart  none  the  less,  as  Red  himself  could  tes 
tify.  He  now  watched  it  grip  Black. 

Without  taking  his  eyes  from  the  picture  Black  propped 
his  umbrella  against  a  chair,  laid  his  hat  and  his  package 
upon  it,  and  stood  still  before  the  Frenchwoman  and  h«r 


30  RED  AND  BLACK 

boy,  unconscious  of  anything  else.  And  as  he  stood  there : 
slowly  his  hands,  hanging  at  his  sides,  became  fists  which 
clenched  themselves.  Red,  observing,  his  own  hand  upon 
the  big  wrought-iron  latch  of  the  door,  paused  still  a  mo 
ment  longer.  The  "Kid"  cared,  did  he?  How  much  did 
he  care,  then  ?  Red  found  himself  rather  wanting  to  know. 

Black  looked  up  at  last,  saw  the  other  man,  saw  that  he 
was  the  quarry  he  was  so  anxious  to  run  down,  but  only 
said,  as  his  gaze  returned  to  the  poster,  "And  she's 
only  one  of  thousands,  all  with  a  spirit  like  that!" 

"Only  one,"  Red  agreed.  "They're  astonishing,  those 
Frenchwomen."  Then  he  went  on  out  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

After  he  had  gone  he  admitted  to  himself  that  since  his 
wife  was  a  member  of  this  man's  church,  and  Black  prob 
ably  knew  that  fact,  he  himself  might  have  stayed  long 
enough  to  shake  hands.  At  close  range  his  eyesight, 
trained  to  observe,  had  not  been  able  to  avoid  noting  that 
Black  was  no  boy,  after  all.  There  had  been  that  in  the 
face  he  had  momentarily  turned  toward  Red  to  show 
plainly  that  he  was  in  the  full  first  maturity  of  manhood. 
It  may  be  significant  that  from  this  moment,  in  whatever 
terms  Red  spoke  of  the  minister  at  home  when  he  was 
forced  by  the  exigencies  of  conversation  to  mention  him  at 
all,  he  ceased  to  call  him  "the  Kid."  So,  though  Black 
did  not  know  it,  he  had  passed  at  least  one  barrier  to  getting 
to  know  the  man  he  meant  to  make  his  friend. 


CHAPTER  III 

NO  ANESTHETIC 

OF  COURSE  the  day  came,  as  it  inevitably  must,  when 
Black  and  Red  actually  met,  face  to  face,  with  no. 
way  out  but  to  shake  hands,  look  each  other  in  the  eye, 
and  consider  their  acquaintance  made?  No,  that  day  of 
proper  introduction  never  came.  But  the  day  did  come 
on  which  they  looked  each  other  in  the  eye  without  shak 
ing  hands — and  another  day,  a  long  time  after,  they  did 
shake  hands.  As  to  their  friendship — but  that's  what 
this  story  is  about. 

The  day  on  which  they  looked  each  other  in  the  eye 
first  was  on  a  Sunday  morning,  rather  early.  Black  had 
done  a  perfectly  foolhardy  thing.  It  was  a  late  June 
day,  and  the  cherries  in  a  certain  tree  just  outside  his 
bathroom  window  were  blood-red  ripe  and  tempting. 
Fresh  from  his  cold  tub — clad  in  shirt  and  trousers,  un 
shaven — his  mouth  watering  at  the  thought  of  eating 
cherries  before  breakfast,  he  climbed  out  of  the  window 
upon  the  sloping  roof  of  the  side  porch,  and  let  himself 
down  to  the  edge  to  reach  the  cherries.  He  never  knew 
how  the  fool  thing  happened,  really;  the  only  thing  he  did 
know  was  that  he  slipped  suddenly  upon  the  edge  of  the 
roof,  wet  with  an  early  morning  shower,  and  fell  heavily 
to  the  ground  below,  striking  on  his  right  shoulder.  And 
then,  presently,  he  was  sitting  at  the  telephone  in  his 
study,  addressing  R.  P.  Burns,  M.  D,,  in  terms  which 

31 


32  RED  AND  BLACK 

strove  to  be  casual,  inviting  him  to  make  a  morning  call 
at  the  manse. 

"I'd  come  over  myself,"  he  explained,  "but  I'm 
ashamed  to  say  I'm  a  trifle  shaky." 

"Naturally,"  replied  the  crisp  voice  at  the  other  end  of 
the  wire.  "Go  and  lie  down  till  I  get  there." 

"Please  have  your  breakfast  first,"  requested  Black, 
struggling  hard  to  master  a  growing  faintness.  Whatever 
he  had  done  to  his  shoulder,  it  hurt  rather  badly,  though 
he  didn't  mind  that  so  much  as  the  idea  of  disgracing  him 
self  in  Burns'  eyes  by  going  white  and  flabby  over  what 
was  probably  a  trivial  injury.  To  be  sure  he  couldn't 
use  his  arm,  but  it  didn't  occur  to  him  that  he  had  actually 
dislocated  that  shoulder  by  so  trifling  a  means  as  a  slip 
from  the  manse  roof.  The  manse  roof,  of  all  places!  It 
wasn't  built  for  incumbent  ministers  to  go  upon,  between 
a  bath  and  a  shave,  and  tumble  from  like  a  little  boy 
— and  on  a  Sunday  morning,  too! 

The  answer  Red  gave  to  Black's  suggestion  that  he 
have  breakfast  before  coming  resembled  a  grunt  more  than 
anything  else.  Black  couldn't  determine  whether  the  red 
headed  doctor  meant  to  do  it  or  not.  The  question  was 
settled  within  five  minutes  by  the  arrival  of  Red,  who 
came  straight  in  at  the  open  manse  door,  followed  the  call 
Black  gave,  "In  here,  please — at  your  left,"  and  appeared 
in  the  study  doorway,  surgical  bag  in  his  hand,  and  a  some 
what  grim  expression — with  which  Black  had  already  be 
come  familiar  at  a  distance — upon  his  lips.  Black  sat  in 
his  red-cushioned  wooden  rocker,  that  most  incongruous 
piece  of  furniture  in  the  midst  of  the  black  walnut  dignity 
of  the  manse  study,  and  in  it  his  appearance  suggested 
that  of  a  sick  boy  who  has  taken  refuge  in  his  mother's 
arms.  Indeed,  it  may  have  been  with  somewhat  of  that 


NO  ANESTHETIC  33 

feeling  that  he  had  chosen  it  as  the  place  in  which  to  wait 
the  coming  of  aid.  Anyhow,  his  face,  under  its  unshaven 
blur  of  beard,  looked  rather  white,  though  his  voice  was 
steady. 

"Mighty  sorry  to  bother  you  at  this  hour,  Doctor 
Burns,"  he  began,  but  was  interrupted. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  to  lie  down?  What's  the  use  of 
sitting  up  and  getting  faint?" 

"I'm  all  right." 

"Yes,  I  see!  All  alone  here?  Thought  you  had  a 
housekeeper."  Red  was  opening  up  his  bag  and  laying 
out  supplies  as  he  spoke. 

"I  have.     She's  gone  home  for  over  Sunday." 

"They  usually  have — when  anything  happens.  Well, 
come  over  here  on  this  couch,  if  you  can  walk,  and  we'll 
see  what  the  trouble  is." 

Black  demonstrated  that  he  could  walk,  though  it 
was  with  considerable  effort.  Through  all  his  undeniable 
faintness  he  was  thinking  with  some  exultation  that  this 
was  a  perfectly  good  chance  to  meet  Red — and  on  his  own 
ground,  too.  What  luck! 

Red  made  a  brief  examination. 

"You've  fixed  that  shoulder,  all  right,"  he  announced- 
"No  matter — we'll  have  you  under  a  whiff  of  ether,  and 
reduce  it  in  a  jiffy." 

"Thanks — no  ether,  please.  You  mean  I've  dislocated 
it?"  inquired  the  patient,  speaking  with  some  difficulty. 

"Good  and  proper.  Here  you  are And  without 

loss  of  time  a  peculiarly  shaped  article,  made  of  wire  and 
gauze  and  smelling  abominably,  came  over  Black's  face. 
It  was  instantly  removed. 

"I  believe  I  said  no  ether,  if  you  please!"  remarked  an 
extraordinarily  obstinate  voice. 


34  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Nonsense,  man!  I'm  only  going  to  give  you  enough 
to  relax  you.  I  see  some  good  stiff  muscles  there  that 
may  give  me  trouble." 

"Ether'll  make  me  sick,  and  I've  got  to  preach  this 
morning." 

"Preach— nothing!" 

"It  may  be  nothing,"  agreed  the  patient,  "but  I'm 
going  to  preach  it,  just  the  same.  And  I  won't  have  an 
anaesthetic,  thank  you  just  as  much,  Doctor." 

Red  said  no  more.  No  surgeon  but  is  astute  enough 
to  tell  whether  a  patient  is  bluffing  or  whether  he  means  it. 
Unquestionably,  though  Black's  face  was  the  colour  of 
ashes,  he  meant  it.  Therefore  Red  proceeded  to  reduce  the 
dislocation,  without  the  advantage  to  himself — or  to  the 
patient — of  the  relaxing  aid  of  the  anaesthetic.  It  was  a 
bad  dislocation,  and  it  took  the  doctor's  own  sturdy  mus 
cles  and  all  his  professional  skill  to  do  the  trick  in  a  few 
quick,  efficient  moves  and  one  tremendous  pull.  But  it  was 
all  over  in  less  time  that  it  takes  to  tell  it,  and  only  one  low 
groan  had  escaped  Black's  tightly  pressed  lips.  Never 
theless  his  forehead  was  wet  and  cold  when  he  lay  limp 
at  the  end  of  that  bad  sixty  seconds. 

A  strong  arm  came  under  his  shoulders,  and  a  glass  was 
held  to  his  lips.  "Drink  this — you'll  be  all  right  in  a 
minute,"  said  a  rather  far-away  voice,  and  Black  obedi 
ently  swallowed  something  which  he  didn't  much  like — 
and  which  he  probably  would  have  refused  to  take  if  he 
had  suspected  that  it  was  going  to  help  buck  him  up  the 
way  it  did.  He  had  an  absurd  idea  of  not  allowing  himself 
to  be  bucked  up  by  anything  but  his  own  will — not  in  the 
presence  of  Red,  anyhow. 

"Some  nerve — for  a  preacher,"  presently  said  the  voice- 
which  sounded  nearer  now. 


NO  ANAESTHETIC  35 

"Why — a  preacher?"  inquired  Black,  as  belligerently 
as  a  man  can  who  is  stretched  upon  his  back  with  his  coat 
off,  his  arm  being  bandaged  to  his  side,  and  a  twenty-four 
hours'  growth  of  beard  on  his  somewhat  aggressive  chin. 

"Never  mind,"  Red  commanded.  "We  won't  have  it 
out  now.  I  don't  blame  you — that  was  hitting  a  man 
when  he's  down." 

"I'm  not  down."  Black  attempted  to  sit  up.  A 
vigorous  arm  detained  him  where  he  was. 

"Just  keep  quiet  a  few  minutes,  and  you'll  be  the  gainer 
in  the  end.  By  the  way — can  you  shave  with  your  left 
hand?" 

"I  never  tried  it."  Black's  left  hand  took  account  of 
his  cheek  and  chin.  "I  was  just  going  to  shave  when 
those — fool — cherries  caught  my  eye." 

"Where's  your  shaving  stuff?" 

Black  looked  up,  startled.     "Oh,  I  can't  let  you " 

"Who's  going  to  do  it?  If  you  must  preach,  you  don't 
want  to  go  to  it  looking  like  a  pugilist,  do  you?  Though 

I'm  not  so  sure "  Red  left  the  sentence  unfinished, 

while  a  wicked  smile  played  round  his  lips. 

"I'll  do  it  myself — or  send  for  a  barber." 

"Oh,  come  on,  Black!  I'm  perfectly  competent  to  do 
the  job,  and  now  I've  got  my  hand  in  on  you  I'd  like  to 
leave  you  looking  the  part  you  wouldn't  insist  on  playing 
if  you  weren't  pretty  game.  I'm  not  so  sure  I  ought  to 
let  you " 

"I'd  like  to  see  you  help  it,"  declared  Black,  and  now  he 
was  smiling,  too,  and  feeling  distinctly  better. 

So  it  ended  by  Red's  going  upstairs  after  the  shaving 
materials,  and  then  shaving  Black,  and  doing  it  with 
decidedly  less  finish  of  style  than  might  have  been  ex 
pected  of  a  crack  surgeon  with  a  large  reputation.  He 


36  RED  AND  BLACK 

cut  his  victim  once,  and  Black,  putting  up  a  hand  and 
getting  it  all  blood  and  lather,  grinned  up  into  Red's  face, 
who  grinned  back  and  expressed  his  regret  at  the  slip. 
This  does  not  mean  that  they  had  become  friends — not 
from  Red's  standpoint,  at  least,  who  would  have  be 
friended  a  sick  dog  and  then  shot  him  without  compunc 
tion  because  he  didn't  want  him  around.  But  it  does 
mean  that  at  last  the  two  had  met,  on  a  man-to-man  basis, 
and  that  Red's  respect  for  the  man  he  had  been  in  no 
hurry  to  meet  had  been  considerably  augmented.  Black 
was  pretty  sure  of  this,  and  it  helped  to  brace  him  more 
than  the  stimulant  had  done. 

Two  hours  later  Red  cut  a  call  on  a  rich  patient  much 
shorter  than  was  politic,  in  order  to  get  to  the  Stone 
Church  in  time  to  slip  into  a  back  pew.  Before  going  in 
he  gave  young  Perkins  instructions  not  to  call  him  out 
before  the  sermon  ended  for  anything  short  of  murder 
on  the  church  doorstep,  surprising  that  lively  usher  very 
much,  since  it  was  the  first  time  such  a  thing  had  ever 
happened.  In  making  this  effort  Red  had  Black  in  mind 
as  a  patient  rather  than  a  minister.  A  severe  dislocation 
must  naturally  cause  a  certain  amount  of  nervous  shock 
which  might  prove  disastrous  to  a  man  attempting  to 
carry  through  a  long  service  and  spend  most  of  the  period 
upon  his  feet,  within  two  hours  after  the  accident  occurred. 
Game  though  Black  might  be — well — Red  admitted  to 
himself  that  he  rather  wanted  to  see  how  the  fellow  whom 
he  could  no  longer  call  "the  Kid"  would  see  the  thing 
through. 

Reactions  are  curious  things.  In  this  case,  though  it 
was  true  that  Black  had  to  steady  himself  more  than  once 
to  keep  his  congregation  from  whirling  dizzily  and  dis 
concertingly  before  his  eyes,  had  to  set  his  teeth  and 


NO  ANAESTHETIC  37 

summon  every  ounce  of  will  he  possessed  to  keep  on 
through  the  first  three  quarters  of  his  service,  after  all  it 
was  Red  who  got  the  most  of  the  reaction.  For  the  ser 
mon  which  Black  preached  contained  a  bomb  thrown 
straight  at  the  heads  of  a  parish  which,  with  half  the  world 
at  war,  was  in  its  majority  distinctly  pacifist — as  was 
many  another  church  during  the  year  of  1916.  Black, 
before  his  sermon  was  done,  had  taken  an  out-and-out, 
unflinching  stand  for  the  place  of  the  Church  in  times  of 
war,  and  had  declared  that  it  must  be  on  the  side  of  the 
sword,  when  the  sword  was  the  only  weapon  which  could 
thrust  its  way  to  peace. 

Red,  listening  closely,  forgetting  that  the  man  before 
him  was  his  patient,  found  himself  involuntarily  admitting 
that  whatever  else  he  was,  Robert  McPherson  Black  was 
fearless  in  his  speech.  And  there  was  probably  no  use  in 
denying  that  the  fellow  had  a  way  of  putting  things  that, 
as  James  Macauley  had  asserted,  efFectually  prevented  the 
man  in  the  pew  from  becoming  absorbed  in  reveries  of  his 
own.  It  had  been  by  no  means  unusual  for  R.  P.  Burns, 
surgeon,  expecting  to  do  a  critical  operation  on  Monday 
morning,  to  perform  that  operation  in  detail  on  Sunday 
morning,  while  sitting  with  folded  arms  and  intent  ex 
pression  before  a  man  who  was  endeavouring  to  interest 
him  in  spiritual  affairs.  On  the  present  occasion,  however, 
though  the  coming  Monday's  clinical  schedule  was  full  to 
the  hatches,  Red  was  unable  to  detach  himself  for  a  mo 
ment  from  the  subject  being  handled  so  vigorously  by 
Black.  Thus,  listening  through  to  the  closing  words,  he 
discovered  himself  to  be  aflame  with  fires  which  another 
hand  had  kindled,  and  that  hand,  most  marvellously,  a 
preacher's. 

Young  Perkins,  hovering  close  to  the  rear  seat  into 


38  RED  AND  BLACK 

which  Red  had  stolen  upon  coming  in  just  before  the  ser 
mon,  considered  the  embargo  raised  with  the  closing 
words  of  Black,  and  had  his  whispered  summons  ready 
precisely  as  Black  began  his  brief  closing  prayer.  The 
scowl  with  which  Red  motioned  him  away  surprised  Per 
kins  very  much,  causing  him  to  retreat  to  the  outer  door, 
where  in  due  season  he  delivered  his  message  to  the  leis 
urely  departing  doctor — departing  leisurely  because  he 
was  eavesdropping. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  he  had  overheard  one 
man  of  prominence  saying  to  another  in  the  vestibule. 
"Strikes  me  that's  going  pretty  strong.  What's  the  use 
of  stirring  up  trouble  ?  That  sort  of  talk's  going  to  offend. 
Pulpit's  not  called  upon  to  go  into  matters  of  state — 
particularly  now,  when  public  sentiment's  so  divided. 
Somebody  better  put  a  flea  in  his  ear,  eh  ?" 

The  other  man  nodded.  "I  believe  a  good  deal  as  he 
does  myself,"  he  admitted,  cautiously,  "but  I  don't  hold 
with  offending  people  who  have  as  good  a  right  to  their 
opinions  as  he  has.  I  saw  Johnstone  wriggling  more  than 
once,  toward  the  last — and  he's  about  the  last  man  we 
want  to  make  mad." 

R.  P.  Burns  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  the  speaker's  arm. 
Turning,  the  other  man  looked  into  a  pair  of  contemptu 
ous  hazel  eyes,  with  whose  glance,  both  friendly  and  fiery, 
he  had  been  long  familiar.  "Oh,  rot!"  said  a  low  voice  in 
his  ear. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Just  that.  Think  it  out."  And  Burns  was  gone,  in 
the  press,  with  the  quickness  now  of  one  accustomed  to 
get  where  he  would  go,  no  matter  how  many  were  in  the 
way. 

He  marched  around  to  the  vestry  door,  where  he  found 


NO  ANAESTHETIC  39 

Black  standing,  his  gown  off,  his  face  gone  rather  white, 
though  it  had  been  full  of  colour  when  Red  saw  it  last. 

"Faint? "he  asked. 

"No — thanks,  I'm  all  right.  Just  thought  I'd  like  a 
whiff  of  fresh  air." 

"Take  a  few  deep  breaths.  I'll  give  you  a  pick-up,  if 
you  say  so." 

Black  shook  his  head.     "I'm  all  right,"  he  repeated. 

"Shoulder  ache?" 

"Not  much.  I'm  all  right,  I  tell  you,  Doctor.  Can't 
you  get  over  the  idea  that  a  preacher  is  a  man  of  straw? 
Why,  I — will  you  try  a  wrestle  with  me,  sometime — 
when  my  shoulder's  fit  again?" 

Red  laughed.  "Down  you  in  two  minutes  and  fifteen 
seconds,"  he  prophesied. 

"Try  it,  and  see."  And  Black  walked  back  into  the 
church,  his  cheek  losing  its  pallor  in  a  hurry. 

On  that  Sunday  the  Lockharts,  his  first  entertainers, 
insisted  that  he  come  to  dinner.  Though  he  had  kept 
his  slung  shoulder  and  arm  under  his  gown,  the  facts 
showed  plainly,-;  and  the  congregation  was  full  of  sym 
pathy.  With  his  housekeeper  away,  Black  could  find  no 
way  out,  though  he  would  have  much  preferred  remaining 
quietly  in  his  study,  with  four  cups  of  coffee  of  his  own 
amateur  making,  and  whatever  he  could  find  in  his  larder 
left  over  from  Saturday. 

So  he  went  to  the  Lockharts',  and  there  he  met  a  person 
who  had  been  in  his  congregation  that  morning,  but  whom 
he  had  not  noted.  She  had  seen  that  he  had  not  noted 
her,  but  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  such  blindness 
should  not  long  continue.  Her  appearance  was  one  well 
calculated  to  arrest  the  eve  of  man,  and  Black's  eye, 


4o  RED  AND  BLACK 

though  it  was  accustomed  to  dwell  longer  upon  man  than 
upon  woman,  was  not  one  calculated  by  Nature  to  be 
altogether  and  indefinitely  undiscerning. 

With  Annette  Lockhart,  daughter  of  the  house,  the 
guest,  Miss  Frances  Fitch,  a  former  school  friend,  held  a 
brief  consultation  just  before  Black's  arrival. 

"Think  he's  the  sort  to  fall  for  chaste  severity,  or  femi 
nine  frivolity,  when  it  comes  to  dress,  Nanny?" 

Miss  Lockhart  looked  her  friend  over.  "You're  just 
the  same  old  plotter,  aren't  you,  Fanny  Fitch?"  she  ob 
served,  frankly.  "Well,  it  will  take  all  you  can  do,  and 
then  some,  if  you  expect  to  interest  Mr.  Black.  But— 
if  you  want  my  advice — I  should  say  chaste  severity  was 
your  line." 

"There's  where  you  show  your  unintelligence,"  de 
clared  Miss  Fitch.  "I  shall  be  as  frilly  as  I  can,  because 
you  yourself  are  a  model  of  smooth  and  tailored  fitness, 
and  he  will  want  a  relief  for  his  eyes.  He  shall  find  it  in 
me.  Really,  wasn't  he  awfully  game  to  preach,  with  that 
shoulder?" 

"He's  a  Scot,"  said  Nan  Lockhart.  "Of  course  he 
would,  if  it  killed  him." 

The  result  of  this  exchange  of  views  was  that  Miss  Fitch 
appeared  looking  like  a  fascinating  young  saint  in  a  sheer 
white  frock.  Had  she  a  white  heart?  Well,  anyhow,  she 
looked  the  embodiment  of  ingenuousness,  for  her  masses 
of  fair  hair  were  too  curly  to  be  entirely  subdued,  no 
matter  how  confined,  and  her  deep  blue  eyes  beneath 
the  blonde  locks  might  have  been  those  of  a  beautiful 
child. 

"Oh,  I  say!"  ejaculated  Tom  Lockhart,  when  she  first 
came  downstairs,  the  transformation  from  her  dark 
smoothness  of  church  garb  to  this  spring-like  outburst  of 


NO  ANAESTHETIC  41 

whiteness  hitting  him  full  in  his  vulnerable  young  heart — • 
as  usual. 

"Well — like  me,  Tommy  dear?"  asked  Fanny  Fitch, 
letting  her  fingers  rest  for  the  fraction  of  a  second  on  his 
dark-blue  coat-sleeve. 

"Like  you!"  breathed  Tom.  "I  say — why  did  I  bring 
him  home  to  dinner?  Now  you'll  just  fascinate  him — 
and  forget  me!" 

"  Forget  you  ?  Why,  Tom ! "  And  Miss  Fitch  gave  him 
an  enchanting  glance  which  made  his  heart  turn  over. 
Then  she  went  on  into  the  big  living  room,  where  Robert 
McPherson  Black,damaged  shoulderand  arm  inafine  black 
silk  sling,  the  colour  now  wholly  restored  to  his  interesting 
face,  rose  courteously  to  be  presented  to  her.  Of  course 
he  did  not  know  it,  but  it  was  at  that  moment  that  he 
encountered  a  quite  remarkable  combination  of  the  world, 
the  flesh,  and  the  devil.  Up  to  now  he  had  met  each  of 
these  tremendous  forces  separately,  but  never  before  all 
together  in  one  slim  girl's  form.  And  yet,  right  here,  it 
must  be  definitely  asserted  and  thoroughly  assimilated, 
that  Fanny  Fitch  was  what  is  known  as  an  entirely 
"nice"  girl,  and  in  her  heart  at  that  hour  was  nothing  which 
could  be  called  an  evil  intent.  The  worst  that  could  be 
said  of  her  was  that  she  was  ruthless  in  exacting  tribute — 
even  as  Caesar.  And  when  her  eye  had  fallen  upon  the 
minister,  with  his  right  arm  out  of  commission  but  the  rest 
of  him  exceedingly  assertive  of  power,  she  had  coveted 
him.  To  her,  the  rest  seemed  easy. 

As  to  Black — he  was  not  "easy."  In  his  very  young  man 
hood  he  had  loved  very  much  the  pretty  daughter  of  his 
Southern  employer,  but  she  had  been  as  far  out  of  his 
reach  as  the  furthermost  star  in  the  bright  constellations 
which  nightly  met  his  eye  in  the  skies  above  him.  When  she 


42  RED  AND  BLACK 

had  married  he  had  firmly  and  definitely  put  the  thought 
of  woman  out  of  his  head,  and  had  formulated  a  code  con 
cerning  the  whole  sex  intended  to  hold  throughout  his 
ministry.  During  his  entire  first  pastorate  he  had  been  a 
model  of  discretion — as  a  young  minister  in  a  country 
community  must  be,  if  he  would  not  have  his  plans  for  ser 
vice  tumbling  about  his  ears.  Fortunately  for  him  he 
was,  by  temperament  and  by  training,  not  over  susceptible 
to  any  ordinary  feminine  environment  or  approach.  He 
had  a  hearty  and  wholesome  liking  for  the  comradeship  of 
men,  greatly  preferring  it  to  the  frequent  and  unavoid 
able  association  with  women  necessary  in  the  workings  of 
church  affairs.  Even  when  his  eye  first  rested  upon  the 
really  enchanting  beauty  of  Miss  Fanny  Fitch,  if  he 
could  have  exchanged  her,  as  his  companion  at  the  Lock- 
hart  dinner  table,  for  R.  P.  Burns,  M.  D.,  he  would  have 
done  it  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  For  had  not  Red 
shaved  him  that  morning,  and  wasn't  another  barrier  most 
probably  well  down  ?  It  was  of  that  he  was  thinking,  and 
not,  just  then,  of  her. 

But  she  forced  him  to  think  of  her — it  was  an  art  in 
which  she  was  a  finished  performer.  She  did  it  by  cutting 
up  for  him  that  portion  of  a  crown  roast  of  spring  lamb 
which  Mr.  Samuel  Lockhart  sent  to  him  upon  his  plate. 
Up  to  that  moment,  throughout  the  earlier  courses,  lie 
had  been  engaged  with  the  rest  in  a  general  discussion  of 
the  subject  of  the  war,  quite  naturally  brought  up  by  the 
sermon  of  the  morning.  But  when  it  came  to  regarding 
helplessly  the  food  which  now  appeared  before  him  un 
manageable  by  either  fork  or  spoon,  he  found  himself 
for  the  first  time  talking  with  Miss  Fitch  alone,  while  the 
conversation  of  the  others  went  ahead  upon  a  new  tack. 

"Oh,   but  this   makes  me  think  of  how  many  poor 


NO  ANESTHETIC  43 

fellows  have  to  have  their  food  cut  up  for  them,  over 
there,"  she  was  saying,  as  her  pretty,  ringless  fingers 
expertly  prepared  the  tender  meat  for  his  consumption. 
"While  you  were  speaking  this  morning  I  was  wishing,  as 
I've  been  wishing  ever  since  this  terrible  war  began,  that 
I  could  be  really  helping,  on  the  other  side.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  my  mother,  who  is  quite  an  invalid,  I  should  have 
gone  long  ago.  You  made  it  all  so  real " 

A  man  may  tell  himself  that  he  doesn't  like  flattery, 
but  if  it  is  cleverly  administered — and  if,  though  he  is 
modest  enough,  he  can't  help  knowing  himself  that  he  has 
done  a  good  thing  in  a  fine  way — how  can  he  quite  help 
being  human  enough  to  feel  a  glow  of  pleasure?  If  it's 
not  overdone — and  Miss  Fitch  knew  much  better  than 
that — much  can  thus  be  accomplished  in  breaking  down 
a  masculine  wall  of  reserve.  Black's  wall  didn't  break 
that  Sunday — oh,  not  at  all — but  it  undeniably  did  crum 
ble  a  little  bit  along  the  upper  edges. 

After  dinner  was  over,  however,  as  if  he  were  somehow 
subtly  aware  that  the  wall  was  undergoing  an  attack, 
Black  withdrew  with  the  other  men  to  the  further  end  of 
the  living  room  to  continue  to  talk  things  over.  He  was 
at  some  pains  to  seat  himself  so  that  he  was  facing  these 
men,  and  had  no  view  down  the  long  room  to  the  other 
end,  where  the  women  were  gathered. 

Miss  Fitch,  looking  his  way  from  a  corner  of  a  great 
divan,  sent  a  smile  and  a  wave  toward  Tom,  who,  torn 
between  allegiance  to  Fanny  and  his  new  and  absorbing 
devotion  to  Black,  had  for  the  time  being  followed  the 
men.  Then  she  said  negligently  to  Nan  Lockhart: 

"Your  minister  certainly  has  a  stunning  profile.  Look 
at  it  there  against  that  dark  blue  curtain." 

Nan  looked  for  an  instant,  then  back  at  her  guest. 


44  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Oh,  Fanny!"  she  murmured,  rebukingly,  "don't  you 
ever  get  tired  of  that  game?" 

"What  game,  my  dear?" 

"Oh — playing  for  every  last  one  of  them!"  answered 
Annette  Lockhart,  with  some  impatience.  She  was  a 
dark-eyed  young  woman  with  what  might  be  called  a 
strong  face,  by  no  means  unattractive  in  its  clean-cut 
lines.  She  had  a  personality  all  her  own;  she  had  been  a 
leader  always;  people  liked  Nan  Lockhart,  and  believed 
in  her  thoroughly.  Her  friendship  for  Fanny  Fitch  was  a 
matter  of  old  college  ties — Fanny  was  nobody's  fool,  and 
she  was  clever  enough  to  keep  a  certain  hold  upon  Nan 
through  the  exercise  of  a  rather  remarkable  dramatic 
talent.  Nan  had  written  plays,  and  Fanny  had  acted 
them;  and  now  that  college  days  were  over  they  had 
plans  for  the  future  which  meant  a  continued  partnership 
in  the  specialty  of  each. 

"Interested  in  him  yourself,  I  judge,"  Miss  Fitch  replied 
teasingly.  "Don't  worry!  The  chances  are  all  with 
you.  He's  horribly  sober  minded — he'll  fall  for  your  sort 
sooner  than  for  mine." 

But  a  certain  gleam  in  her  eyes  said  something  else — 
that  she  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  beginning  she  had 
made.  Another  man  might  have  taken  a  seat  where  he 
could  look  at  her;  that  Black  deliberately  looked  the 
other  way  this  astute  young  person  considered  proof 
positive  that  he  found  her  unexpectedly  distracting  to 
his  thoughts. 

When,  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  Black  turned  around,  ready 
to  take  his  farewell,  Miss  Fitch  was  absent  from  the  room. 
He  glanced  about  for  her,  found  her  not,  told  himself  that 
he  was  glad,  and  went  out.  As  the  door  of  the  living 
room  closed  behind  him,  she  came  down  the  stairs,  a 


NO  ANAESTHETIC  45 

white  hat  on  her  head,  a  white  parasol  in  her  hand. 
They  passed  out  of  the  house  door  together.  At  the  street 
Miss  Fitch  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  manse,  two 
blocks  away.  Black  paused  and  removed  his  hat — with 
his  left  hand  he  did  it  rather  awkwardly. 

"It's  been  very  pleasant  to  meet  you,"  he  said.  "Is 
your  stay  to  be  long?" 

"Several  weeks,  I  believe.  Are  you  really  going  that 
way,  Mr.  Black — or  don't  you  venture  to  walk  down  the 
street  with  any  members  of  your  congregation  except 
men?" 

He  smiled.  "I  am  really  going  this  way,  Miss  Fitch — 
thank  you!  Would  you  care  to  know  where?" 

"To  Doctor  Burns — with  your  arm,  I  suppose.  Is  it 
very  painful?" 

"It's  doing  very  well.  Isn't  this  a  magnificent  day?  I 
hope  you'll  have  a  pleasant  walk." 

"I  can  hardly  help  it,  thank  you — I'm  so  fond  of  walk 
ing — which  Nan  Lockhart  isn't — hard  luck  for  me! 
Good  bye — and  I  shall  not  soon  forget  what  I  heard  this 
morning." 

Her  parting  smile  was  one  to  remember — not  a  bit  of 
pique  that  he  hadn't  responded  to  her  obvious  invitation 
— no  coquetry  in  it  either,  just  charming  friendliness,  ex 
ceedingly  disarming.  As  he  turned  away,  striding  off  in 
the  opposite  direction  from  that  which  he  naturally  would 
have  taken,  he  was  frowning  a  little  and  saying  to  himself 
that  it  was  going  to  be  rather  more  difficult  to  keep  the 
old  guard  up  in  a  place  like  this  than  it  had  been  in  his 
country  parish.  His  good  Scottish  conscience  told  him 
that  though  in  deciding  on  the  instant  to  make  Doctor 
Burns  a  visit  he  had  committed  himself  to  something  he 
didn't  want  to  do  at  all — gc  and  bother  the  difficult  doctor 


46  RED  AND  BLACK 

with  his  shoulder  when  it  wasn't  necessary — he  must  do 
it  now  just  the  same,  to  square  the  thing.  Heavens  and 
earth — why  shouldn't  he  walk  down  the  street  with  a 
beautiful  young  woman  in  white  if  she  happened  to  be 
going  his  way,  instead  of  putting  himself  out  to  go  where 
he  hated  to,  just  to  avoid  her?  Not  that  he  cared  to  walk 
with  her — he  didn't — he  preferred  not  to.  And  the  doctor 
would  think  him  a  weakling,  after  all,  if  he  came  to  him 
complaining,  as  was  the  truth,  that  his  shoulder  was  aching 
abominably,  and  his  head  to  match,  and  that  his  pulse 

seemed  to  be  jumping  along  unpleasantly.     Well 

Just  then  R.  P.  Burns  went  by  in  his  car  at  a  terrific  and 
wholly  inexcusable  speed,  evidently  rushing  out  of  town. 
Black,  recognizing  him,  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  But  he 
went  around  seven  blocks  to  get  back  to  the  Manse  with 
out  a  chance  of  meeting  anybody  in  white.  At  a  very  dis 
tant  sight  of  anybody  clothed  all  in  white  he  turned  up  the 
first  street,  and  this  naturally  lengthened  his  trip.  So 
that  when  he  was  finally  within  the  Manse's  sheltering 
walls  he  was  very  glad  to  give  up  bluffing  for  the  day,  and 
to  stretch  himself  upon  the  leather  couch  in  the  study  where 
that  morning  he  had  doggedly  refused  an  anaesthetic. 
He  rather  wished  he  had  one  now!  Confound  it — he  felt 
that  he  had  been  a  fool  more  than  once  that  day.  Why 
should  ministers  have  to  act  differently  from  other  men, 
in  any  situation  whatever?  He  made  up  his  mind  that 
the  next  time  he  climbed  out  on  a  slippery  roof  on  a  Sunday 
morning — well,  he  would  do  it  if  he  wanted  to!  But  the 
next  time  he  turned  up  a  side  street  to  avoid  anybody — 
or  changed  his  direction  because  anybody  was  going  the 


same  way 

When  he  woke  an  hour  later  it  was  because  his  shoulder 
really  was  extremely  ?or^  and  painful.     But  he  wouldn't 


NO  ANESTHETIC  47 

have  called  Burns  if  he  had  known  that  that  skillful  sur 
geon  could  take  away  every  last  twinge.  Anyhow — Burns 
had  shaved  him  that  morning!  There  was  that  that 
was  good  to  remember  about  the  day.  Sometime — he 
would  come  closer  to  the  red-headed  doctor  than  that! 


CHAPTER  IV 
NOBODY  TO  SAY  A  PRAYER 

MRS.  HODDER,  housekeeper  at  the  manse,  breathed 
a  heavy  sigh  as  she  poured  the  minister's  breakfast 
coffee.  He  looked  up,  as  she  had  known  he  would;  his 
ear  seemed  to  be  sensitive  to  sighs. 

"It's  queer,  how  things  go  for  some  people,"  she  said. 
"I  can't  get  over  feeling  that  a  body  should  have  Christian 
burial,  no  matter  what  the  circumstances  is." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  said  Black  promptly.  Mrs.  Hodder 
was  not  a  talker — he  did  not  think  she  was  a  gossip.  She 
had  been  selected  for  him  by  his  good  friend  Mrs.  Lockhart, 
who  had  had  in  mind  the  necessity  of  finding  the  minister 
a  housekeeper  built  on  these  desirable  lines.  Mrs.  Hodder 
came  as  near  such  lines  as  seemed  humanly  possible, 
though  she  had  her  faults.  So  had  the  minister,  as  he  was 
accustomed  to  remind  himself,  whenever  he  discovered 
a  new  one  in  his  housekeeper. 

So  Mrs.  Hodder  told  him,  and  as  he  listened  a  peculiar 
frown  appeared  between  his  eyebrows.  The  thing  she 
told  him  was  of  the  sort  to  touch  him  to  the  quick.  The 
moment  he  had  finished  his  breakfast — which  he  did  in  a 
hurry — he  went  into  the  study,  closed  the  door,  and  called 
up  a  certain  undertaker,  whom — as  is  the  case  with  the 
men  of  Black's  profession — he  had  come  to  know  almost 
before  he  knew  the  leading  men  of  his  church. 

"Oh,  that's  nothing  that  need  interest  you,  Mr.  Black," 

48 


NOBODY  TO  SAY  A  PRAYER          49 

replied  the  man  of  gloomy  affairs,  in  the  cheerful  tone  he 
employed  out  of  working  hours.  "  It's  out  in  a  community 
where  there  isn't  any  church — folks  are  dead  against  the 
church,  at  that.  Nobody  expects  any  service — there  won't 
be  but  a  handful  there,  anyhow.  There's  only  the  girl's 
grandmother  for  relatives — and  the  thing's  best  kept 
quiet.  See?" 

"I  see.     What  time  are  you  to  leave  the  house?" 

"Ten  o'clock.     But  you " 

"There  wouldn't  be  any  actual  objection  to  my  coming, 
would  there,  Mr.  Munson?" 

"Why — I  suppose  not.  They  simply  don't  expect  it — 
not  used  to  it.  And  in  this  case — if  you  understand " 

"I  do  understand — and  I  very  much  want  to  come. 
The  trolley  runs  within  two  miles,  I  believe." 

"Why — yes.  But  I  can  send  for  you,  if  you  insist — • 
only — you  know  they're  poor  as  poverty " 

"I  want  the  walk,  and  I'll  catch  the  trolley — thank  you. 
If  I  should  be  a  bit  late ' 

"Oh,  I'll  hold  the  thing  for  you — and — well,  it's  cer 
tainly  very  good  of  you,  Mr.  Black.  I  admit  I  like  to  see 
such  things  done  right  myself." 

The  conversation  ended  here,  and  Black  ran  for  his 
trolley,  with  only  time  to  snatch  a  small,  well-worn  black 
leather  handbook  from  his  desk.  He  had  no  time  for  a 
change  of  clothes — which  he  wouldn't  have  made  in  any 
case,  though  he  was  not  accustomed  to  dress  in  clerical 
style  upon  the  street,  except  in  so  far  as  a  dark  plainness 
of  attire  might  suggest  his  profession  rather  than  empha 
size  it. 

He  had  two  minutes  to  spare  on  a  street  corner,  waiting 
for  his  car.  On  that  corner  was  a  florist's  shop.  Catching 
sight  of  a  window  full  of  splendid  roses  he  rushed  in,  gave 


50  RED  AND  BLACK 

an  order  which  made  the  girl  in  charge  work  fast,  and 
managed  to  speed  up  the  whole  transaction  so  successfully 
that  when  he  swung  on  to  the  moving  step  he  had  a  slim 
box  under  his  arm.  Only  a  dozen  pink  rosebuds — Black 
had  never  bought  florist's  roses  in  armfuls — but  somehow 
he  had  felt  he  must  take  them.  How  account  for  this 
impulse — since  the  Scotch  are  not  notably  impulsive? 
But — right  here  it  will  have  to  be  confessed  that  Black 
had  in  his  veins  decidedly  more  than  a  trace  of  Irish  blood. 
And  now  it's  out — and  his  future  history  may  be  better 
understood  for  the  admission. 

Some  time  after  Black  had  caught  his  trolley,  R.  P. 
Burns,  M.  D.,  brought  his  car  to  a  hurried  standstill  in 
front  of  Jane  Ray's  shop  in  the  side  street,  and  all  but 
ran  inside.  The  shop  was  empty  at  the  moment,  and 
Jane  came  forward  at  his  call.  He  put  a  quick  question : 

"Have  you  heard  anything  of  Sadie  Dunstan  lately?'* 

"Nothing — for  a  long  time.  I  can't  even  find  out  where 
she  has  gone.'* 

"I  can  tell  you — but  it  will  startle  you.  There's  no 
time  to  break  it  gently,  or  I  would.  She  got  into  trouble, 
and — came  home  to — die." 

Jane  was  looking  him  straight  in  the  face  as  he  spoke, 
and  he  saw  the  news  shock  her,  as  he  had  known  it  would. 
Sadie  Dunstan  was  a  little,  fair-haired  girl  who  had  been 
Jane's  helper  in  the  shop  for  a  year,  and  in  whom  Jane  had 
taken  great  interest.  Then  she  had  gone  away — West 
somewhere — had  written  once  or  twice — had  failed  to 
write — Jane  had  unwillingly  lost  track  of  her.  And  now 
— here  was  Burns  and  his  news. 

"Where  is  she?  Is  she — still  living ?'*  Jane's  usually 
steady  voice  was  unsteady. 

"No.     She's  to  be  buried — within  the  hour.     I  just 


NOBODY  TO  SAY  A  PRAYER          SI 

found  it  out — and  came  for  you.  I  thought  you  might 
like  to  go." 

"I'll  be  ready  in  three  minutes.    I'll  lock  the  shop " 

Thus  it  was  that  two  more  people  were  shortly  on  their 
way  to  the  place  where  little  Sadie  Dunstan,  unhonoured 
and  unmourned — except  for  one — lay  waiting  for  the  last 
offices  earth  could  give  her.  But  she  was  to  have  greater 
dignity  shown  her  than  she  could  have  hoped. 

"I  did  try  to  make  a  real  woman  of  her,"  said  Jane,  in  a 
smothered  voice,  when  Red  had  told  her  what  he  knew 
of  the  pitiful  story.  Passing  the  small  house  that  morning 
he  had  seen  the  sign  upon  the  door,  and  remembering 
Jane  Ray's  lost  protegee,  had  stopped  to  inquire.  A 
neighbour  had  given  him  the  tragic  little  history;  the  old 
grandmother,  deaf  and  half  blind  in  her  chimney  corner, 
had  added  a  harsh  comment  or  two;  and  only  a  young  girl 
who  said  she  was  Sadie's  sister  and  had  but  an  hour  before 
suddenly  appeared  from  the  unknown,  had  shown  that 
she  cared  what  had  happened  to  Sadie. 

"You  did  a  lot  for  her,"  asserted  Burns.  "I  think  the 
girl  meant  to  be  straight.  This  was  one  of  those  under- 
promise-of-marriage  affairs  which  get  the  weak  ones  now 
and  then.  Poor  little  girl — she  wouldn't  have  wanted  you 
to  know — or  me.  She  didn't  give  me  a  chance — though 
there  probably  wasn't  one,  anyway,  by  the  time  she  got 
back  here.  I've  had  her  under  my  care  many  a  time  in 
her  girlhood,  you  know — she  was  a  frail  little  thing,  but 
mighty  appealing.  This  younger  sister  is  a  good  deal 
like  her,  as  she  looked  when  you  took  her  first." 

"I  knew  she  had  a  sister,  but  thought  she  was  far  away 
somewhere." 

"In  an  orphanage  till  this  last  year.  She's  only  sixteen 
— a  flower  of  a  girl — and  cryic  &  'ier  heart  out  for  Sadie. 


52  RED  AND  BLACK 

The  grandmother's  a  brute — the  child  can't  stay  with 
her." 

"She'll  not  have  to.  I  can  make  it  up  to  Sadie — and  I 
will." 

Burns  looked  at  the  face  in  profile  beside  him.  Jane 
Ray  had  a  profile  which  might  have  been  characterized 
as  sturdily  sweet;  the  lines  were  extremely  attractive. 
Jane's  quiet  dress,  the  simple  hat  upon  her  head,  were  the 
last  word  in  expensive,  well-conceived  fashion,  but  Burns 
did  not  know  this.  He  only  knew  that  Miss  Ray  always 
looked  precisely  as  she  ought  to  look — very  nice,  and  a 
little  distinguished,  so  that  one  noticed  her  approvingly, 
and  people  who  did  not  know  her  usually  wondered  who 
she  was.  He  was  thinking  as  he  glanced  at  her  now  that 
if  she  meant  to  make  it  up  to  Sadie  by  taking  her  young 
sist>er  under  her  care,  that  sister  would  have  an  even  better 
chance  than  Sadie  had  had — and  lost. 

"I  wish  we  had  brought  some  flowers,'*  Jane  said  sud 
denly,  as  the  car  flew  past  the  last  houses  of  the  main 
highway  and  began  to  climb  the  hills  into  the  country 
backroads.  "This  is  such  a  benighted  little  spot  we're 
going  to — they  may  not  have  any  at  all." 

"  Doubt  it.  But  there  wasn't  time  to  hunt  up  flowers 
if  we  wanted  to  get  there.  Munson's  in  all  kinds  of  a 
hurry  to  get  this  thing  over.  It's  his  busy  day — as  usual, 
when  it  happens  to  be  a  poor  case.  We'll  do  well  if  we 
make  it  now.  Not  much  use  in  coming — there'll  be  no 
service.  But  we  can  at  least  see  the  box  go  down!" 

He  spoke  grimly.  But  Jane  had  caught  sight  of  a  rose 
bush  in  a  dooryard  crowded  with  white  roses,  and  cried 
out  imperiously: 

"  Stop  one  minute,  please,  Doctor  Burns.  I'll  buy  those 
roses  or  steal  them.  Please!** 


NOBODY  TO  SAY  A  PRAYER          53 

The  brakes  ground,  and  Jane  was  out  before  the  car 
stopped,  pulling  out  a  plump  little  purse  as  she  ran.  A 
countrywoman  hurrying  to  her  door  to  protest  angrily  at 
the  spectacle  of  a  girl  filling  her  arms  with  white  roses 
was  met  with  the  call:  "I'm  going  to  give  you  a  dollar 
for  them — please  don't  stop  me.  It's  for  a  funeral,  and 
we're  late  now!" 

"Highway  robbery,"  commented  Burns,  as  Jane  sprang 
in  beside  him.  "But  she'd  have  sold  you  her  soul  for  a 
dollar — and  dear  at  that." 

"Oh,  don't  talk  about  souls,  up  here,"  Jane  protested. 
"If  your  fine  new  man  at  the  Stone  Church  wanted  a  job 
worth  while  he'd  leave  the  smug  people  in  the  high-priced 
pews  and  come  up  here  to  look  after  barbarians  who'll 
bury  a  poor  girl  without  a  prayer.  Don't  I  know,  without 
your  telling  me,  that  there'll  be  no  prayer? — unless  you 
make  one?"  She  looked  at  him  with  sudden  challenge. 
"I  dare  you  to!"  she  said,  under  her  breath. 

Burns'  hazel  glance,  with  a  kindling  fire  in  it,  met  hers. 
"I  take  the  dare,"  he  answered,  without  hesitation.  "I 
know  the  Lord's  Prayer — and  the  Twenty  Third  Psalm. 
I'm  not  afraid  to  say  them — for  Sadie  Dunstan." 

The  cynicism  in  Jane's  beautifully  cut  lips  melted  un 
expectedly  into  a  quiver,  and  she  was  silent  after  that, 
till  the  car  dashed  up  the  last  steep  hill.  They  came  out 
at  the  top  almost  in  the  dooryard  of  a  small,  weather- 
beaten  cottage  in  front  of  which  stood  an  undertaker's 
wagon,  two  men,  and  half  a  dozen  women.  These  people 
were  just  about  to  go  into  the  house,  but  stood  back  to  let 
Doctor  Burns — whom  all  of  them  knew — and  Miss  Ray — 
whom  one  of  them  knew — go  in  ahead. 

As  she  went  up  the  steps  Jane  braced  herself  for  what 
she  must  see.  Little  fair-haired  Sadie — come  to  this  so 


54  RED  AND  BLACK 

early — so  tragically — and  nobody  to  care — nobody  to 
say  a  prayer — except  a  red-headed>  doctor,  whose  business 
it  was  not.  At  least — she  had  an  armful  of  white  roses. 
She  wanted  to  take  one  look  at  Sadie — and  then  lay  the 
roses  so  that  they  would  cover  her  from  the  sight  of  the 
hard  eyes  all  about  her.  She  would  do  that — just  that. 
Why  not?  What  better  could  she  do?  She  drew  her 
breath  deep,  and  set  her  lips,  and  walked  into  the  poor 
little  room.  .  ? 

The  thing  she  saw  first  was  a  glowing  handful  of  won 
derful  pink  rosebuds  upon  the  top  of  the  cheap  black  box 
— one  could  not  dignify  it  by  any  other  word  than  Burns 
had  used — which  held  the  chief  position  in  the  room. 
And  then,  at  the  foot  of  the  box,  she  saw  a  tall  figure  with 
an  open  book  in  his  hand  come  to  do  Sadie  Dunstan 
honour.  Jane  Ray  caught  back  the  sob  of  relief  which 
had  all  but  leaped  to  her  lips.  She  had  not  known,  until 
that  moment,  how  much  she  had  wanted  that  prayer — 
she,  who  did  not  pray — or  thought  she  did  not. 

Mr.  Munson,  in  a  hurry,  watch  in  hand,  allowed  the  few 
neighbours  who  had  come  barely  time  to  crowd  into  the 
small  room  before  he  signalled  the  minister  to  go  ahead 
and  get  it  over.  He  was  not  an  unfeeling  man,  but  he  had 
two  more  services  on  for  the  day — costly  affairs — and 
both  his  assistants  were  ill,  worse  luck!,  and  he  had  had 
to  look  after  this  country  backwoods  burial  himself.  He 
had  noted  with  some  surprise  the  appearance  of  Doctor 
Burns  and  Miss  Ray,  though  there  was  no  use  in  ever 
being  surprised  at  anything  the  erratic  doctor  might  do. 
As  for  Miss  Ray — he  admired  her  very  much,  both  for 
her  charming  personality  and  her  business  ability,  which 
compelled  everybody's  respect.  He  wondered  what  on 
earth  brought  her  here — what  brought  all  three  of  them 


NOBODY  TO  SAY  A  PRAYER          55 

here,  slowing  things  up  when  the  body  might  have  been 
committed  to  the  dust  with  the  throwing  of  a  few  clods 
by  his  own  competent  fingers — and  everybody  in  this 
heathen  community  better  satisfied  than  the  Stone  Church 
man  was  likely  to  make  them  with  his  ritual.  Thus 
thought  Mr.  Munson  in  his  own  heart,  and  all  but  showed 
it  in  his  face. 

But  Black,  though  he  held  his  book  in  his  hand,  gave 
them  no  ritual — not  here  in  the  house.  He  had  meant 
to  read  the  usual  service,  abbreviating  and  modifying  it 
as  he  must.  But  somehow,  as  he  had  noted  one  face  after 
the  other — the  impassive  faces  of  the  few  men  and  women, 
the  surlily  stoic  one  of  the  old  grandmother,  the  tear-wet 
one  of  the  wretched  young  sister  in  her  shabby  short 
frock — and  then  had  glanced  just  once  at  the  set  jaw  of 
R.  P.  Burns  and  the  desperate  pity  in  the  dark  eyes  of 
Jane  Ray,  he  had  felt  impelled  to  change  his  plan. 

Red,  listening,  now  heard  Black  pray,  as  a  man  prays 
whose  heart  is  very  full,  but  whose  mind  and  lips  can  do 
his  bidding  under  stress.  It  was  a  very  simple  prayer — 
it  could  not  be  otherwise  because  Black  was  praying  with 
just  one  desire  in  his  heart,  to  reach  and  be  understood 
by  the  one  real  mourner  there  before  him.  It  is  quite 
possible  that  he  remembered  less  the  One  to  whom  he 
spoke  than  this  little  one  by  whom  he  wanted  to  be  heard. 
It  was  for  the  little  sobbing  sister  that  he  formulated  each 
direct,  heart-touching  phrase,  that  she  might  know  that 
after  all  there  was  Someone — a  very  great  and  pitiful 
Someone — who  knew  and  cared  because  she  had  lost  all 
she  had  in  a  hard  and  unpitiful  world.  And  speaking 
thus,  for  her  alone,  Black  quite  forgot  that  Red  was  listen 
ing — and  Red,  somehow,  knew  that  he  forgot. 

Jane  Ray  listened,  too — it  was  not  possible  to  do  any- 


56  RED  AND  BLACK 

thing  else.  Jane  had  never  heard  any  one  pray  like  that; 
she  had  not  known  it  was  ever  done.  It  was  at  that 
moment  that  she  first  knew  that  the  man  who  was  speak 
ing  was  a  real  man;  such  words  could  have  been  so  spoken 
by  no  man  who  was  not  real,  no  matter  how  clever  an  actor 
he  might  be.  Something  in  Jane's  heart  which  had  been 
hard  toward  any  man  of  Black's  profession — because 
she  had  known  one  or  two  whom  she  could  not  respect, 
and  had  trusted  none  of  them  on  that  account — softened 
a  little  while  Black  prayed.  At  least — this  man  was  real. 
And  she  was  glad — oh,  glad — that  he  was  saying  words 
like  these  over  the  fair,  still  head  of  Sadie  Dunstan,  and 
that  the  little  sister,  who  looked  so  like  her  that  the  sight 
of  her  shook  Jane's  heart,  could  hear. 

Jane  still  held  her  roses  when,  after  a  while,  the  whole 
small  group  stood  in  the  barren,  ill-kept  burial  place  which 
was  all  this  poor  community  had  in  which  to  bestow  its 
dead.  It  was  only  across  the  road  and  over  the  hill  by  a 
few  rods,  and  when  Mr.  Munson  had  been  about  to  send 
Sadie  in  his  wagon,  Black  had  whispered  a  word  in  his  ear, 
and  then  had  taken  his  place  at  one  side  of  the  black  box 
with  its  glowing  roses  on  the  top.  Red,  discerning  his 
Intention,  had  taken  two  strides  to  the  other  side,  displac 
ing  a  shambling  figure  of  a  man  who  was  slowly  approach 
ing  for  this  duty.  Mr.  Munson,  now  seeing  a  reveal 
ing  light,  waved  the  unwilling  bearer  aside,  and  himself 
took  the  other  end  of  the  box.  Together  the  three,  looking 
like  very  fine  gentlemen  all — in  contrast  to  those  who  fol 
lowed — bore  Sadie  in  decorum  to  her  last  resting  place. 

Now  came  the  ritual  indeed — every  word  of  it — brief 
and  beautiful,  with  its  great  phrases.  When  Mr.  Munson, 
clods  in  hand,  cast  them  at  the  moment — "ashes  to  ashes, 
dust  to  dust," — Jane  flung  her  white  roses  so  swiftly  down 


NOBODY  TO  SAY  A  PRAYER          57 

after  them  that  the  little  sister  never  saw  the  dark  earth 
fall.  Then  she  turned  and  took  the  trembling  young 
figure  in  her  own  warm  arms — and  looking  up,  over  Sue's 
head,  Jane's  eyes,  dark  with  tears,  met  full  the  under 
standing,  joyfully  approving  eyes  of  Robert  Black.  .  .  . 

Striding  down  the  hill,  presently,  having  refused  the 
offer  of  Mr.  Munson  to  take  him  back  in  his  own  small 
car,  Black  was  passed  by  Red  and  Jane,  with  a  shabby 
little  figure  between  them.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  the 
car  stopped,  and  waited  for  Black  to  catch  up.  He  came 
to  its  side,  hat  in  hand,  his  eyes  friendlily  on  Sue  Dunstan, 
who  looked  up  at  him  shyly  through  red  lids. 

"Will  you  ride  on  the  running  board — at  least  till  we 
get  to  the  trolley?"  offered  Red.  "I  thought  you  had 
gone  with  Munson.  What's  the  matter?  Was  he  in  too 
much  of  a  hurry  to  look  after  the  minister?" 

"No,  he  asked  me.  But  I  want  to  walk,  thank  you. 
I'm  pretty  fond  of  the  country,  and  don't  often  get  so  far 
out." 

"It  was  very  good  of  you  to  come,"  said  Jane  Ray, 
gravely.  "It — made  all  the  difference.  Mr.  Munson 
told  us  he  didn't  ask  you — you  offered.  But  it's  impossi 
ble  not  to  wonder  how  you  knew." 

"My  housekeeper  came  from  somewhere  near  this 
region — she  told  me.  It  was  very  easy  to  come — easier 
than  to  stay  away,  after  knowing.  What  a  day  this  is — 
and  what  a  view!  Don't  let  me  keep  you — good  bye.'* 
And  he  turned  away  even  before  Red,  always  in  a  hurry 
though  he  was,  would  have  suggestively  speeded  his  throb 
bing  motor — a  device  by  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
make  a  get-away  from  a  passer-by  who  had  held  him  up. 
As  he  went  on  Red  put  out  an  arm  and  waved  a  parting 
salute  to -the  man  behind  him,  at  which  Black,  seeing  the 


58  RED  AND  BLACK 

friendly  signal,  smiled  at  the  landscape  in  general,  address 
ing  it  thus: 

"You  wouldn't  do  that,  Red-Head,  if  you  weren't  be 
ginning  to  like  me  just  a  bit — now  would  you  ? " 

The  car  was  barely  out  of  sight  when  he  heard  a  shriek 
behind  him,  and  turning,  found  himself  pursued  by  one 
of  the  women  who  had  been  in  the  cottage.  She  was 
waving  a  parcel  at  him — a  small  parcel  done  up  in  a  ragged 
piece  of  newspaper,  as  he  saw  when  he  had  returned  to 
meet  her.  She  explained  that  it  contained  some  few  be 
longings  of  Sue  Dunstan  which  the  girl  had  forgotten. 

"They  ain't  much,  but  she  might  want  'em.  She  won't 
be  comin*  back,  I  guess — not  if  that  Miss  Ray  keeps  her 
that  kept  Sade  before.  She  better  keep  a  look-out  on 
Sue — she's  the  same  blood,  an'  it  ain't  no  good." 

"Thank  you — I'll  take  this  to  her,"  Black  agreed.  His 
hat  was  off,  as  if  she  had  been  a  lady,  this  unkempt  woman 
who  regarded  him  curiously.  He  was  saying  to  himself 
that  here  was  a  place  to  which  he  must  come  again,  it 
was  so  near — and  yet  so  very,  very  far. 

She  would  have  stayed  him  to  gossip  about  both  Sadie 
and  Sue,  but  he  would  have  none  of  that,  turned  the  talk 
his  own  way,  and  presently  got  away  as  adroitly  as  ever 
Red  had  done,  leaving  her  looking  after  him  with  an  ex 
pression  of  mingled  wonder  and  admiration.  Somehow 
he  had  given  her  the  impression  of  his  friendliness,  and 
his  democracy — and  yet  of  the  difference  between  herself 
and  him.  There  was,  once,  a  Man,  beside  a  wayside  well, 
who  had  given  that  same  impression. 

Until  late  evening  he  was  busy;  calls — a  manse  wedding 
— a  committee  meeting — an  hour's  study — so  the  rest 
of  the  June  day  went.  But  just  as  dusk  was  falling  he 
tucked  the  newspaper  parcel  under  his  arm  and  went  down 


NOBODY  TO  SAY  A  PRAYER  59 

Jane  Ray's  side  street.  He  did  not  know  at  all  if  she 
could  be  found  at  this  hour,  but  he  had  an  idea  that  Jane 
lived  above  her  shop,  and  that  if  she  were  at  home  a  bell 
which  he  had  seen  beside  the  door  would  bring  her. 

The  shop  was  softly  lighted  with  many  candles, 
though  no  one  seemed  to  be  inside.  When  he  tried  the 
door,  however,  it  was  locked,  and  he  rang  the  bell.  A 
minute  later  he  saw  Jane  coming  through  the  shop  from 
the  back,  and  the  suggestion  of  the  hostess  moving 
through  attractive  apartments  was  more  vivid  than  ever. 
The  door  opened.  Black  held  out  his  parcel. 

"I'm  sorry  to  bother  you  at  this  hour,  Miss  Ray,  but 
I  believe  it's  something  the  little  girl  left  behind,  and  I 
thought  she  might  want  it  to-night.  I  couldn't  get  here 
earlier,." 

"Oh,  thank  you!  Won't  you  come  in  a  minute  and  see 
Sue?  I'd  like  you  to  see  how  different — and  how  dear — 
she  looks.  She's  just  back  in  the  garden."  Jane's  ex 
pression  was  eager — not  at  all  businesslike.  She  might 
have  been  a  young  mother  offering  to  show  her  child. 

"Garden?"  questioned  Black,  following  Jane  through 
the  candle-lighted  shop. 

"Actually  a  garden.  You  wouldn't  think  it,  would  you ? 
But  there  is  one — a  very  tiny  one — and  it's  the  joy  of  my 
life." 

FAt  the  back  of  the  shop  she  opened  a  door  into  one  of 
the  most  inviting  little  rooms  Black  ever  had  seen — or 
dreamed  of.  Not  crowded  with  antiques  or  curios — just 
a  simple  home  room,  furnished  and  hung  with  the  most 
exquisite  taste — a  very  jewel  of  a  room,  and  lighted  with 
a  low  lamp  which  threw  into  relief  the  dark  polished  surface 
of  a  table  upon  which  stood  a  long  row  of  finely  bound 
books.  But  he  was  led  quickly  through  this — though  he 


60  RED  AND  BLACK 

wanted  to  linger  and  look  about  him — through  an  outer 
door  of  glass  which  opened  directly  upon  the  garden. 
Well! 

"It's  not  very  much,"  said  Jane,  "as  gardens  go — but 
I'm  terribly  proud  of  it,  just  the  same." 

"It's  wonderful!"  Black  exclaimed.  "What  a  spot — 
among  all  these  old  brick  buildings!  Why — it  looks  like 
an  English  garden;  every  bit  of  space  used — and  all  those 
trim  walks — and  the  seat  under  the  trees.  Great!"  And 
his  eye  dwelt  delightedly  on  the  box  borders  filled  with 
flowers,  on  the  tall  rows  of  blue  delphiniums  and  holly 
hocks  against  the  walls,  on  the  one  great  elm  tree  at  the 
back  of  it  all  beneath  which  stood  a  rustic  seat. 

"But  here's  something  better  yet,"  said  Jane's  voice 
quietly,  beside  him,  and  she  brought  him  out  upon  the 
narrow,  vine-hung  porch  which  ran  all  across  the  back  of 
the  house.  Here,  on  a  footstool  beside  a  big  chair,  sat 
Sue  Dunstan,  a  little  figure  all  in  white,  with  hair  in  shining 
fair  order  as  if  it  had  just  been  washed  and  brushed,  and 
shy  eyes  no  longer  red  with  tears.  And  Sue  looked — yes, 
she  looked  as  if  she  had  forgotten  everything  in  the  world — 
except  to  love  Jane  Ray! 

And  then — she  recognized  the  man  who  had  stood  at  her 
sister's  feet  that  morning  and  said  strange  words  which  had 
somehow  comforted  her.  A  flood  of  colour  rushed  into  her 
cheeks — she  crouched  upon  the  footstool,  not  daring  to 
look  up  again.  Black  sat  down  in  the  chair  beside  her — 
he  knew  Jane  had  been  sitting  there  before  him.  He 
said  Miss  Ray  had  let  him  come  out  for  just  a  minute  to 
see  the  garden,  and  wasn't  it  a  beautiful  garden?  He  had 
known  a  garden  something  like  that  once,  he  said,  and 
never  another  since,  and  he  wondered  if  he  could  make  one 
like  it  behind  his  house.  Sue  wasn't  sure — she  shook  her 


NOBODY  TO  SAY  A  PRAYER          61 

head — she  seemed  to  think  no  one  but  Miss  Ray  could 
make  such  a  garden. 

Black  didn't  stay  long — he  knew  he  wasn't  ex 
pected  to.  But  he  had  made  friends  with  Sue  before  he 
went — poor  child,  who  had  no  friends.  And  he  almost 
thought  he  had  made  friends  with  Jane  Ray,  too.  Some 
how  he  found  himself  wanting  to  do  that — he  didn't  quite 
know  why.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she  was  very  evi 
dently  a  friend  of  Red.  Yes — he  thought  that  must  be 
the  reason  why  she  interested  him  so  much. 

As  they  came  back  through  the  shop  Jane  paused  to 
snuff  a  flaming  candle  with  an  old  pair  of  brass  snuffers — 
her  face  was  full  of  colour  in  the  rosy  light — and  remarked, 
"I'm  going  to  have  an  exhibition  of  war  posters  some 
evening  before  long,  Mr.  Black — for  the  benefit  of  French 
and  Belgian  orphans.  Would  you  care  to  speak  of  it 
among  your  friends?  I  think  you  saw  some  of  the  first 
posters  I  received.  I  have  more  and  very  wonderful  ones 
now — many  of  them  quite  rare  already.  I  want  to  attract 
the  people  with  plenty  of  money — and  some  interest  in 
things  over  there." 

"I'll  be  delighted  tc  mention  it  in  church  next  Sunday, ' 
Black  offered  promptly. 

"Oh— really?" 

"Why  not?" 

"7  don't  know  why  not.  I  supposed  you  would.  Your 
church  people — they  don't  like " 

"Don't  they? — I'll  be  all  the  more  delighted  to  mention 
the  war  posters,  then.  Thank  you  for  giving  me  the 
chance.  And  for  showing  me  the  garden — and  Sue. 
She's  a  lucky  girl — and  so  are  you,  aren't  you? — to  have 
such  a  chance.  You'll  make  the  most  of  it.  Miss  Ray, 
I  think  Sue  never  heard  of — Somebody  she  ought  to  know. 


62  RED  AND  BLACK 

She  needs  Him — even  more  than  she  needs  you.  Teach 
her  the  story  of  Him — will  you?  You  don't  mind  my 
saying  it?  You  couldn't  mind — you  care  for  her!  Good 
night!" 

Jane  Ray  looked  after  the  tall  figure,  striding  swiftly 
away  up  the  side  street  through  the  June  twilight. 

"You  certainly  aren't  afraid,"  she  thought,  "to  say  ex 
actly  what  you  think.  I  like  you  for  that,  anyhow." 


CHAPTER  V 
PLAIN  AS  A  PIKESTAFF 

ROBERT  BLACK  was  dressing  for  a  dinner — a  men's 
dinner,  to  which  Samuel  Lockhart^had  invited  him, 
and  Tom  Lockhart  had  commanded  him. 

"You  see,  I've  got  to  be  there,"  Tom  had  explained. 
"And  Dad  always  asks  a  lot  of  ponderous  old  personages 
who  bore  you  to  death — or  else  make  you  red  with  rage 
at  some  of  their  fossil  ideas.  The  only  thing  that  saves 
the  case  for  me  to-night  is  that  you're  coming.  I've 
stipulated  that  I  sit  near  you — see?  Mother  wouldn't 
hear  of  my  being  next  you — that  honour  is  reserved  for  one 
of  your  trustees." 

"I  assure  you  I'm  immensely  flattered,"  Black  had  re 
plied,  with  a  real  sense  of  warmth  about  the  heart.  He 
had  grown  steadily  fonder  of  this  interesting  boy  who  was 
all  but  a  man.  "  But  isn't  your  good  friend  Doctor  Burns 
to  be  there?  Surely  he'd  save  anybody  from  boredom." 

"There!"  Tom's  tone  was  mocking.  "Yes,  he'll 
be  there — after  he  comes — and  before  he  goes.  He'll 
come  in  just  in  time  for  the  salad — no  evening  dress,  just 
good  old  homespun,  because  he's  had  no  time  to  change. 
Then  he'll  be  called  out  before  the  coffee  and  the  smokes — 
but  he'll  ask  for  a  cup,  just  the  same,  and  swallow  it 
standing.  Then  he'll  go  out — and  all  the  lights'll  go  out 
for  me'with  him — except]  that  you're^  there  to  keep  the 
brain  fires  burning." 

63 


64  RED  AND  BLACK 

Black  had  laughed  at  this  dismal  picture,  and  had 
told  the  youngster  that  he  would  -endeavour  to  save  his 
life  in  the  crisis.  But  now,  as  he  dressed,  he  was  not 
looking  forward  to  the  event.  To  tell  the  truth,  although 
he  had  been  present  at  many  college  and  fraternity  ban 
quets,  this  was  actually  his  first  experience  at  a  formal 
dinner  in  a  private  home.  He  was  even  experiencing  a 
few  doubts  as  to  how  to  dress. 

Good  judgment,  however,  assured  him  that  the  one 
safe  decision  for  a  clerical  diner-out  was  clerical  dress. 
Having  satisfied  himself  that  every  hair  was  in  place,  but 
having  found  one  of  his  accessories  missing,  he  went  in 
search  of  Mrs.  Hodder. 

"I  don't  seem  to  find  a  handkerchief  in'my  drawer,  Mrs. 
Hodder,"  he  announced,  standing  in  the  doorway  of  the 
kitchen  and  glancing  suggestively  toward  a  basketful  of 
unironed  clothes  below  the  table  at  which  his  housekeeper 
sat. 

"You  don't,  Mr.  Black?"  Mrs.  Hodder  exclaimed. 
"Mercy  me — I'll  iron  you  one  in  a  jiffy.  If  I  may  make 
so  bold  as  to  say  so,  sir,  it's  not  my  fault.  You  use  hand 
kerchiefs  rather  lavish  for  one  who — who  owns  so  few." 

"Haven't  I  enough?  I'll  get  some  more  at  once.  Do 
I — do  you  mind  telling  me  if  I  look  as  if  I  were  going  out 
to  dinner?" 

The  housekeeper  turned  and  surveyed  him.  Approval 
lighted  her  previously  sombre  eye.  "You  look  as  if  you 
were  just  going  to  get  married,"  she  observed. 

An  explosion  of  unclerical-like  laughter  answered  her. 
"But  I'm  dressed  no  differently  from  the  way  I  am  on 
Sundays,"  he  reminded  her. 

"You  have  your  gown  on  in  the  pulpit.  And  the  minute 
you  come  home  you're  out  of  that  long  coat  and  into  the 


PLAIN  AS  A  PIKESTAFF  ^5 

short  one.  I've  never  seen  you  stay  looking  the  way  you 
do  now  five  minutes,  Mr.  Black." 

"That  must  be  why  I'm  so  unhappy  now.  I've  got  to 
stay  in  this  coat  for  an  entire  evening.  Pity  me,  Mrs. 
Hodder!  And  don't  wait  up,  please.  I  may  be  rather 
late." 

He  marched  away,  followed  by  the  adoring  gaze  of  his 
housekeeper.  Mrs.  Hodder's  austerity  of  countenance 
belied  her  softness  of  heart.  If  the  minister  had  guessed 
how  like  a  mother  she  felt  toward  him  he  might  have  been 
both  touched  and  alarmed. 

Arrived  at  the  Lockharts',  he  found  himself  welcomed 
first  by  Tom,  who  met  him,  as  if  accidentally,  at  the  very 
door. 

"The  heavy-weights  are  all  here,"  announced  the  boy 
under  his  breath,  his  arm  linked  in  Black's,  as  he  led  his 
friend  upstairs.  "Bald — half  of  'em  are  bald!  And  the 
rest  look  as  solemn  as  if  this  were  a  funeral  instead  of  a 
dinner.  Maybe  they  feel  that  way.  I'm  sure  I  do.  I 
say — don't  you  wish  we  could  jump  into  my  car  and  burn 
it  down  the  road  about  fifty  miles  into  the  moonlight? 
There's  a  gorgeous  moon  to-night." 

"Ask  me  after  the  dinner  is  over,  and  I'll  go." 

"What?    Will  you?    You  won't— no  such  luck!" 

"Try  me  and  see." 

"You  bet  I  will.  See  here — you  promise?  It'll  be 
\ate,  I  warn  you.  Father's  dinners  drag  on  till  kingdom 
come." 

"Any  time  before  morning."  And  Black  looked  into 
the  laughing,  incredulous  eyes  of  the  youth  before  him. 

"You're  no  minister,"  Tom  chuckled.  "You're  a  dead 
game  sport."  Then  he  drew  back  suddenly  at  the  flash 
in  the  black  eyes. 


66  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Don't  make  a  mistake  about  that,"  suggested  Black, 
quietly. 

"Oh — I  guess  you  are  a  minister,  all  right,"  admitted 
Tom,  respectfully.  "And  I  guess  perhaps  I  want  you  to 
be." 

"I'm  very  sure  you  do."  Black  smiled  again.  "Did 
you  think  I  couldn't  take  a  late  spin  in  your  car  without 
compromising  my  profession?" 

"I  just  thought — for  a  minute,"  whispered  the  boy, 
"I  saw  a  bit  of  a  reckless  devil  look  out  of  your  eyes.  I 
thought — you  wanted  to  get  away,  like  me,  from  this 
heavy  dinner  business — and  go  to — just  any  old  place!" 

"Perhaps  I  do.  But  I  don't  intend  to  think  about 
moonlight  drives  till  I've  done  my  part  here.  Come  on, 
Tom — let's  be  'dead  game  sports'  and  help  make  things  go. 
Afterward — we'll  take  the  trail  with  good  consciences." 

"Anything  to  please  you.  I  was  going  to  bolt  whenever 
R.  P.  Burns  got  called  out;  but  I'll  wait  for  you." 

"You  seem  to  be  sure  he'll  be  called  out.  Perhaps  he 
won't,  for  once." 

"Not  a  chance.  Wait  and  see,"  prophesied  Tom;  and 
together  they  descended  the  stairs. 

Tom  stood  off  at  one  side,  after  that,  with  the  apparent 
deference  of  youth.  His  eyes  were  sharp  with  interest 
in  Black,  whose  presence  relieved  for  him  the  tedium  of 
the  affair.  He  saw  the  minister  shaking  hands,  making 
acquaintances,  joining  groups,  with  a  certain  straightfor 
wardness  of  manner  which  pleased  the  critical  youth  im 
mensely.  Like  most  young  men,  he  despised  what  is  easily 
recognized  in  any  company  as  that  peculiar  clerical  at 
mosphere  which  surrounds  so  many  men  of  Black's  pro 
fession.  He  didn't  want  a  minister  to  bow  a  little  lower, 
hold  the  proffered  hand  a  little  longer,  speak  in  a  little 


PLAIN  AS  A  PIKESTAFF  67 

more  unctuous  tone  than  other  men.  He  wanted  his 
minister  to  hold  his  head  high,  to  make  no  attempts  to 
ingratiate  himself  into  his  companions'  good  graces  by 
saying  things  too  patently  calculated  to  please  them;  he 
didn't  want  him  to  agree  with  everybody — he  wanted 
him  to  differ  with  them  healthily  often.  As  he  watched 
Black's  way  of  looking  a  new  acquaintance  straight  in 
the  eye,  as  if  to  discover  what  manner  of  man  he  was,  and 
then  of  letting  the  other  man  take  the  'lead  in  conver 
sation  instead  of  instantly  and  skillfully  assuming  the 
lead,  as  if  he  considered  himself  a  born  dictator  of  the 
thoughts  and  words  of  others — well — Tom  said  to  himself 
once  more  that  he  was  jolly  glad  Robert  McPherson  Black 
had  come  to  this  parish.  Since  it  always  devolved  upon 
the  Lockhart  family  to  show  first  friendliness  to  new  in 
cumbents  of  that  parish,  it  mattered  much  to  Tom  that 
he  could  heartily  like  this  man.  He  was  even  beginning 
to  think  of  him  as  his  friend — his  special  friend.  And  as, 
from  time  to  time,  his  eyes  met  Black's  across  the  room, 
he  had  a  warm  consciousness  that  Black  had  not  forgotten 
but  was  looking  forward  to  the  hour  that  should  release 
them  both  for  that  fast  drive  down  the  empty,  moonlit 
road.  Reward  enough  for  a  dull  evening,  that  would  be, 
to  take  the  black-eyed  Scotsman  for  such  a  whirl  across 
country  as  he  probably  had  never  known! 

But  first — the  dinner!  And  Red  hadn't  come — of 
course  he  hadn't — when  the  party  moved  out  to  the  dining 
room  and  took  their  places  at  the  big  table  with  its  im 
pressive  centrepiece  of  lights  and  flowers,  its  rather 
gorgeous  layout  of  silver  and  glass,  and  its  waiting  atten 
dants.  Red  hadn't  arrived  when  the  soup  and  fish  had 
come  and  gone;  when  the  roast  fowl  was  served;  it  wasn't 
till  Tom  had  begun  to  give  him  up  that  the  big  doctor 


68  RED  AND  BLACK 

suddenly  put  his  red  head  in  at  the  door  and  stood  there 
looking  silently  in  upon  the  company.  Tom  sprang  up 
joyfully,  and  rushed  across  the  room.  Red  came  forward, 
shook  hands  with  his  host,  and  took  his  place — opposite 
Black,  as  it  happened. 

And  instantly — to  two  people  at  least — the  room  was 
another  place.  It's  Stevenson,  isn't  it? — who  mentions 
that  phenomenon  we  have  all  so  many  times  observed — 
that  the  entrance  of  some  certain  person  into  a  room  makes 
it  seem  "as  if  another  candle  had  been  lighted!"  Won 
derful  phrase  that — and  blessed  people  of  whom  it  can 
be  said!  Of  such  people,  certainly  R.  P.  Burns,  M.  D., 
was  a  remarkable  type.  Nobody  like  him  for  turning  on 
not  only  one  but  fifty  candlepower. 

Yet  all  he  did  was  to  sit  down — in  his  customary  gray 
suit,  quite  as  Tom  had  said  he  would,  having  had  no  time 
to  change — grin  round  the  table,  and  say,  "Going  to  feed 
me  up  from  the  beginning,  Lockhart?  Oh,  never  mind. 
A  good  plateful  of  whatever  fowl  you've  had,  and  a  cup  of 
coffee  will  suit  me  down  to  the  ground.  Coffee  not  served 
yet,  Parker?"  He  turned  to  the  manservant  at  his  elbow. 
"But  you  see" —  with  an  appealing  glance  at  his  host — 
"I've  had  no  lunch  to-day — and  it's  nearly  ten.  I'm  just 
about  ready  for  that  coffee."  Then  he  surveyed  again 
the  hitherto  serious  gentlemen  about  him,  who  were  now 
looking  suddenly  genial,  and  remarked, "You  fellows  don't 
know  what  it  is  to  be  hungry.  No  one  here  but  me  has 
done  an  honest  day's  work." 

"Do  you  mind  telling  us  what  time  yours  began,  Doctor 
Burns?"  asked  Black,  across  the  table. 

The  hazel  eyes  encountered  the  black  ones  for  the  second 
time.  Black  had  been  the  first  man  Red  looked  at  as  he  sat 
down — his  greeting  grin  had  therefore  started  with  Black. 


PLAIN  AS  A  PIKESTAFF  69* 

"Twelve-five  A.  M.  No  thanks  to  me.  I  gave  the 
fellow  blue  blazes  for  calling  me,  but  he  was  one  of  those 
persistent  chaps,  and  rang  me  up  every  ten  minutes  till 
I  gave  in  and  went  .  .  .  Excuse  the  shop.  .  .  » 
What  were  you  all  talking  about?  Keep  it  up,  please, 
while  I  employ  myself." 

Somebody  told  him  they  had  been  talking  about  the 
Great  War  in  Europe — and  received  a  quick,  rather 
cynical  glance  from  the  hazel  eyes.  Somebody  else  ob 
served  that  it  was  to  be  hoped  we'd  keep  our  heads  and 
not  get  into  it — and  had  a  fiery  glance  shot  at  him,  de 
cidedly  disdainful.  Then  a  third  man  said  sadly  that  he 
had  a  son  who  was  giving  him  trouble,  wanting  to  go  and 
enlist  with  the  Canadians,  and  he  wished  he  knew  how 
to  talk  sense  into  the  boy. 

"Better  thank  the  Lord  you've  bred  such  a  lad!" 
ejaculated  Red,  between  two  gulps  of  coffee. 

"Of  course  I  am  proud  of  his  spirit,"  admitted  the  un 
happy  father.  "But  there's  no  possible  reason  why  he 
should  do  such  a  wild  thing.  His  mother  is  nearly  out  of 
her  mind  with  fear  that  if  we  keep  on  opposing  him  he'll 
run  away." 

"  If  he  does,  you'll  wish  you  had  sent  him  willingly,  won't 
you?"  suggested  Black.  "Why  not  let  him  go?" 

William  Jennings,  treasurer  of  Black's  church,  turned 
on  his  minister  an  astonished  eye.  "You  don't  mean  to 
say  you  say  that?" 

"Why  not?  I  have  three  young  nephews  over  there, 
in  the  Scottish  ranks.  They  need  all  the  help  they  can 
have  from  us.  If  we  don't  get  in  as  a  country  pretty  soon 
now — more  than  your  boy  will  run  away.  Look  at  the 
fellows  who've  already  gone  from  our  colleges,  and  more 
going  all  the  time." 


70  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Mr.  Black," — a  solemn  voice  spoke  from  down  the 
table — "I've  been  given  to  understand  you  are  in  sym 
pathy  with  war.  I  can  hardly  believe  it." 

Black  looked  at  the  speaker,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with 
a  sudden  fire.  "That's  rather  a  strange  way  of  putting 
it,"  he  said.  "Perhaps  you  might  rather  say  I  am  in 
sympathy  with  those  who  have  had  war  thrust  upon  them. 
What  else  is  there  to  do  but  to  make  war  back — to  end 
it?" 

"There  are  other  ways — there  must  be.  A  great  Chris 
tian  nation  must  use  those  ways — not  throw  itself  blindly 
into  the  horrible  carnage.  Our  part  is  to  teach  the  world 
the  lesson  of  peace  as  Christ  did." 

"How  did  He  teach  it?"  The  question  came  back,  like 
a  shot. 

The  man  who  had  spoken  delayed  a  little,  finding  it 
difficult  to  formulate  his  answer.  "Why,  by  His  life,  His 

example,  His  precepts "  he  said.     "He  was  the  Man 

of  Peace — He  told  us  to  turn  the  other  cheek " 

Red's  keen  eyes  were  on  Black  now.  He  had  opened 
his  own  lips,  in  his  own  impulsive  way — and  had  closed 
them  as  quickly.  "What's  in  you?"  his  eyes  said  to 
Black.  "Have  you  got  it  in  you  to  down  this  fool?  Or 
must  I?"  And  he  forgot  how  hungry  he  was. 

When  Black  spoke,  every  other  eye  was  on  him  as  well. 
He  spoke  quietly  enough,  yet  his  words  rang  with  convic 
tion.  "My  Christ,"  he  said,  "if  He  were  on  earth  now, 
and  the  enemy  were  threatening  Mary,  His  mother,  or 
the  other  Mary,  or  the  little  children  He  had  called  to 
Him,  would  seize  the  sword  in  His  own  hand,  to  defend 
them." 

Red  sat  back.  Over  his  face  swept  a  flame  of  relief. 
Tom  breathed  quickly.  Samuel  Lockhart  glanced  about 


PLAIN  AS  A  PIKESTAFF  71 

him,  and  saw  on  some  faces  startled  approval  and  on 
others  astonishment  and  anger. 

Then  the  talk  raged — of  course.  This  was  in  those 
days,  already  difficult  to  recall,  when  men  differed  about 
the  part  America  should  take  in  the  conflict;  when  dread 
of  involvement  called  forth  strange  arguments,  unsound 
logic;  when  personal  fear  for  their  sons  made  fathers 
stultify  themselves  by  advocating  a  course  which  should 
keep  the  boys  out  of  danger.  Several  of  the  guests  at 
Mr.  Lockhart's  table  were  fathers  of  sons  in  college — 
substantial  business  or  professional  men  alive  with  fear 
that  the  war  sentiment  flaming  at  the  great  centres  of 
education  would  catch  the  tow  and  tinder  of  the  young 
men's  imagination,  and  that  before  long,  whether  America 
should  declare  war  or  not,  instead  of  isolated  enlistments 
the  whole  flower  of  the  country's  youth  would  be  off"  for 
the  scene  of  the  great  disaster. 

Suddenly  Red  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table. 

"You're  afraid,"  he  cried,  "of  the  personal  issue,  you 
fellows!  Forget  that  you  have  sons — let  the  sons  forget 
that  they  have  fathers.  What's  America's  plain  duty? 
Good  God — it's  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff!  She's  got  to  get 
in — to  keep  her  own  self-respect." 

"And  to  save  her  own  soul,"  added  Black;  and  again 
the  eyes  of  the  two  men  met  across  the  table. 

It  was  at  this  instant  that  Tom  Lockhart  took  fire. 
Up  to  these  last  words  of  Red  and  Black  he  had  been 
merely  intensely  interested  and  excited;  now,  suddenly, 
he  was  aglow  with  eagerness  to  show  where  he  stood,  he 
of  the  class  who  in  all  wars  are  first  to  offer  themselves. 
Almost  before  he  knew  it  he  had  spoken,  breaking 
the  silence  which  had  succeeded  upon  Black's  grave 
words. 


72  RED  AND  BLACK 

"  I'm  ready  to  go,"  he  said,  and  a  great  flush  spread  over 
his  fair  young  face  to  the  roots  of  his  thick,  sandy  hair. 

Then,  indeed,  the  table  was  in  an  uproar — a  subdued 
uproar,  to  be  sure,  but  none  the  less  throbbing  with  con 
trary  opinion.  As  for  Samuel  Lockhart  himself,  he  could 
only  stare  incredulously  at  his  boy,  but  the  other  men, 
with  the  exception  of  the  doctor  and  the  minister,  were 
instantly  upon  Tom  with  hurried  words  of  disapproval. 
William  Jennings,  who  sat  next  him,  turned  and  laid  a 
remonstrating  hand  on  Tom's  arm. 

"My  boy,"  he  said,  fiercely — it  was  he  whose  son  was 
likely  to  enlist  with  Canada — "you  don't  know  what 
you're  talking  about.  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  lose  your 
head  like  my  George!  There  isn't  any  call  for  you  young 
sters  to  take  this  thing  seriously — leave  it  to  the  ones  who 
are  of  military  age,  at  least.  They've  got  enough  mer. 
over  there,  anyway,  to  see  this  war  through;  if  we  send 
money  and  munitions,  the  way  we  are  doing,  that's  our 
part,  and  a  big  part  it  is,  too." 

Well,  Tom  found  himself  wishing  in  a  way  that  he 
hadn't  spoken  up,  since  it  had  brought  all  the  heavy 
weights  down  on  his  .undeniably  boyish  self.  And  yet, 
somehow,  when  he  had  glanced  just  once  at  Red  and 
Black,  he  couldn't  be  entirely  sorry.  Both  had  given  him 
a  look  which  he  would  have  done  much  to  earn,  and  neither 
had  said  a  word  of  remonstrance. 

Yet,  after  the  dinner,  his  impression  that  they  were 
both  eager  to  have  him  carry  his  expression  of  willingness 
into  that  of  a  fixed  purpose,  suffered  an  unexpected  change. 
As  they  rose  from  the  table,  at  a  late  hour,  Red — who  had 
not  been  called  out  yet  after  all — slipped  his  arm  through 
Tom's,  and  spoke  in  his  ear. 

"I'm  proud  of  you,  lad,"  he  said,  "but  I  want  you  to 


PLAIN  AS  A  PIKESTAFF  73 

think  this  thing  through  to  the  end.  Duty  sometimes 
takes  one  form  and  sometimes  another.  I've  been  watch 
ing  your  father,  and — you  see — you  dealt  him  a  pretty 
heavy  blow  to-night,  and  he  hasn't  been  quite  the  same 
man  since.  Go  slow — that's  only  fair  to  him.  You're  not 
twenty-one  yet,  are  you  ? " 

"Pretty  near.     Next  January." 

"Keep  cool  till  then.  We  may  be  in  it  as  a  country  by 
then — I  hope  so.  If  we  are — perhaps  you  and  I " 

Tom  thrilled.     "Will  you  go,  Doctor?" 

"You  bet  I  will!  I'd  have  been  off  long  ago  if 

But  I  can't  tell  you  the  reason  just  now.  Some  day, 
perhaps.  Meanwhile " 

He  looked  at  Tom,  and  Tom  looked  at  him.  Then, 
both  of  them,  for  some  unexplainable  reason,  turned  and 
looked  toward  Black,  whose  eyes  were  following  them. 

"Do  you  suppose  he'll  go  if  we  do  declare  war?"  whis 
pered  Tom. 

A  queer  expression  crossed  Red's  face.  "They  mostly 
don't — his  class,"  he  said,  rather  contemptuously. 

"Do  you  think — "  Tom  hesitated — "he's — just  like  his 
class?" 

"Not — just  like  those  I've  known,"  admitted  Red, 
grudgingly.  "That  is — on  the  surface.  Can't  tell  how 
deep  the  difference  goes,  yet." 

"I  like  him!"  avowed  Tom,  honestly. 

Red  laughed.  "Good  for  you!"  he  commented.  "I'm 
— trying  rather  hard  not  to  like  him." 

Tom  stared.     "Oh — why  not?"  he  questioned,  eagerly. 

But  he  didn't  hear  the  explanation  of  this  extraordinary 
statement,  for  one  of  the  older  men  came  up  and  hauled 
him  away  by  the  arm,  and  he  had  a  bad  time  of  it,  mostly, 
for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  He  was  only  restrained  from 


74  RED  AND  BLACK 

making  a  bolt  and  getting  away  from  the  house  by  the 
remembrance  of  Black's  promise. 

The  time  came,  however,  when  for  a  moment  he  feared 
it  was  all  up  with  that  moonlight  spin.  He  had  just 
slipped  out  upon  the  porch  and  assured  himself  that  the 
night  was  continuing  to  be  the  finest  ever,  when  he  heard 
Red  inside  taking  leave.  He  hurried  back,  and  discov 
ered  that  the  other  men  were  evidently  about  to  take  the 
cue  and  go  also.  He  came  around  to  Black's  elbow  in 
time  to  hear  Red  address  the  minister. 

"Happen  to  be  in  the  mood  for  a  run  of  a  few  miles  in 
my  car?"  Red  invited,  in  his  careless  way  which  left  a 
man  free  to  accept  or  refuse  as  he  chose.  "I  have  to  see 
a  patient  yet  to-night.  It  was  a  pretty  fine  night  when 
I  came  in." 

Tom  couldn't  know — how  could  he? — what,  in  the  cir 
cumstances,  it  cost  Black  to  reply  as  he  promptly  did: 

"Thank  you — I'd  like  nothing  better — except  what  I'm 
going  to  have:  the  same  thing  with  Tom  Lockhart." 

Now  Tom  was  a  gentleman,  and  he  hastened  to  release 
Black  from  his  promise,  though  his  face  plainly  showed 
his  disappointment. 

"Please  go  with  the  Doctor,  if  you  like,  Mr.  Black. 
His  car  can  put  it  all  over  mine — and  he  doesn't  ask  any 
body  very  often — as  I  happen  to  know." 

Black  smiled.  "I'm  engaged  to  you,  Tom,"  he  said, 
"  and  I'm  going  with  you,  if  you'll  take  me.  Mighty  sorry 
I  can't  be  in  two  places  at  the  same  time,  Doctor  Burns." 

"All  right,"  answered  Red — and  wouldn't  have  ad 
mitted  for  a  farm  that  he  was  disappointed.  "As  for 
Tom's  car — it's  a  whale,"  he  added,  "  and  can  show  my'old 
Faithful  the  dust  any  time.  Good-night,  then!" 

Whichever  was  the  better  car,  certain  it  was  that  Black, 


F1AIN  AS  A  PIKESTAFF  75 

in  Tom's,  ha«l  his  first  sensation  of  tremendous  speed 
during  the  hour  which  followed.  The  boy  was  excited 
by  the  events  of  the  evening,  he  was  a  skillful  and  daring 
driver,  and  he  was  conscious  of  being  able  to  give  an  older 
man  a  perfectly  new  experience.  Black  had  frankly  told 
him  that  he  had  never  before  taken  a  night  drive  in  a 
powerful  roadster,  with  the  speed  limit  whatever  the  driver 
chose  to  make  it.  Under  this  stimulus  Tom  chose  to  make 
it  pretty  nearly  the  extreme  of  his  expensive  motor's 
power.  The  result  was  that  very  soon  the  minister's  hat 
was  in  his  hand,  and  his  close-cut  black  hair  taking  the  stiff 
breeze,  like  Tom's,  as  the  car  gathered  herself  afresh  to  fly 
down  each  new  stretch  of  clear  road. 

"Like  it?"  shouted  Tom,  suddenly,  as  he  slowed  down 
for  a  sharp  curve. 

"It's  great!" 

"Don't  mind  how  fast  we  go?" 

"Not  while  I  trust  you — as  I  do." 

"You  do  trust  me,  eh?"  The  boy's  voice  was  exultant. 

"To  the  limit." 

"Why  do  you?" 

"Because  you  know  my  life  is  in  your  hands.  You 
wouldn't  risk  cutting  it  short." 

The  motor  slackened  perceptibly.  "There's  not  the 
least  danger  of  that." 

"Of  course  not — with  your  hands  oh  the  wheel.  Go 
ahead — don't  slow  down.  You  haven't  shown  me  yet 
quite  what  the  car  can  do,  have  you?" 

"Well — not  quite.  Pretty  near,  though.  I  knew  you 
were  a  good  sport.  Lots  of  older  men  get  nervous  when 
we  hit — what  we  were  hitting.  Not  even  R.  P.  B.  drives 
in  quite  that  notch — and  he's  no  coward.  He  says  it's 
all  right,  if  you  don't  happen  to  throw  a  tire.  I  never 


76  RED  AND  BLACK 

expect  to  throw  one — not  at  that  pace.  Never  have. 
Maybe  I  better  not  take  any  chances  with  the  minister  in, 
though." 

"Take  any  that  you'd  take  for  yourself,"  commanded 
Black.  Tom,  diminishing  his  pace  of  necessity  for  a 
one-way  bridge,  glanced  quickly  round  at  his  companion, 
to  see  what  Black's  face  might  reveal  that  his  cool  speech 
did  not.  He  saw  no  trace  of  fear  in  the  clean-cut  profile 
outlined  against  the  almost  daylight  of  the  vivid  night; 
instead  he  saw  a  man  seemingly  at  ease  under  conditions 
which  usually,  Tom  reflected,  rather  strung  most  fellows 
up,  old  or  young. 

Suddenly  Tom  spoke  his  mind:  "You  are  a  good 
sport,"  he  said,  in  his  ardent  young  way.  "They  mostly 
aren't,  though,  in  your  business,  are  they? — honestly 
now?  You  would  go  to  war,  though,  wouldn't  you?" 

Then  he  saw  a  change  of  expression  indeed.  Black's 
lips  tightened,  his  chin  seemed  to  protrude  more  than 
usual — and,  as  we  have  stated  before,  it  was  a  frankly  ag 
gressive  chin  at  any  time.  Black's  head  came  round,  and 
his  eyes  seemed  to  look  straight  through  Tom's  into  his 
cynical  young  thoughts. 

"Tom,"  he  said — waited  a  bit,  and  then  went  on,  slowly 
and  with  peculiar  emphasis — "there's  just  one  thing  I 
can  never  take  peaceably  from  any  man — and  I  don't 
think  I  have  to  take  it.  I  have  the  honour  to  belong  to  a 
profession  which  includes  thousands  of  the  finest  men  in 
the  world — just  as  your  friend  Doctor  Burns'  profession 
includes  thousands  of  fine  men.  You — and  others — never 
think  of  hitting  at  the  profession  of  medicine  and  surgery 
just  because  you  may  happen  to  know  a  man  here  and 
there  who  isn't  a  particularly  worthy  member  of  it. 
There  are  quacks  and  charlatans  in  medicine — but  the 


PLAIN  AS  A  PIKESTAFF  77 

profession  isn't  judged  by  them.  Is  it  quite  fair  to  judge 
the  ministry  by  some  man  you  have  known  who  didn't 
seem  to  measure  up?" 

"Why — no,  of  course  not,"  admitted  Tom.  "It's  just 
that — I  suppose — well — I  don't  think  there  are  so  many 
of  'em  who — who " 

"Want  to  drive  seventy  miles  an  hour — at  midnight?" 

Tom  laughed  boyishly.  "I  don't  expect  that,  of 
course.  But  I  don't  like  long  prayers,  to  tell  the  truth; 
and  most  of  the  sermons  find  fault  with  folks  because 
they  don't  happen  to  come  up  to  the  preacher's  mark, 
and  I  get  fed  up  on  'em." 

"Do  you  like  Doctor  Burns'  medicine?  He  set  your 
leg  once,  you  told  me.  Did  you  like  that — especially?" 

"Oh,  well — if  you  want  to  call  sermons  medicine " 

began  Tom,  slyly. 

"That's  exactly  what  many  of  them  are — or  should  be 
— and  pretty  bitter  medicine,  too,  at  that,  sometimes. 
Shouldn't  a  man  have  your  respect  who  dares  to  risk 
your  dislike  by  giving  you  the  medicine  he  thinks  you 
need?  Is  the  man  who  ventures  to  stand  up  and  tell  you 
the  plain  truth  about  yourself,  whether  you  like  it  or  not, 
exactly  a  coward?" 

"You're  certainly  no  coward,"  said  Tom,  with  emphasis. 

"Did  you  ever  happen  to  know  a  minister  Lwho  you 
thought  was  a  coward?" 

"Not  exactly.  But — if  you  want  the  truth — I  don't 
think,  if  this  country  should  get  into  war,  you'd  see  an 
awful  lot  of  preachers  going  into  it.  Why — they  don't 
believe  in  it.  They " 

"Wait  and  see.  We  shall  get  into  it — sooner  or  later — I 
hope  sooner.  And  when  we  do — I  don't  think  the  regi 
ments  will  be  lacking  chaplains." 


78  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Oh!— chaplains!" 

"You  think  that's  a  soft  job,  do  you?  Do  you  happen 
to  have  been  reading  much  about  the  English  and  French 
chaplains  over  there,  since  the  war  began?  And  the 
priests?" 

"Can't  say  I  have,"  admitted  Tom. 

"The  only  difference  that  I  can  find,"  said  Black,  in  a 
peculiar  quiet  tone  which  when  he  knew  him  better  Tom 
discovered  to  mean  deadly  earnestness — with  a  bite  in  it — 
"between  a  chaplain's  job  and  a  fighting  man's,  is  that 
the  right  sort  of  chaplain  goes  unarmed  where  the  soldier 
goes  armed — and  takes  about  as  many  chances,  first  and 
last.  And  when  it  comes  to  bracing  the  men's  courage 
before  the  fight — and  after — well,  I  think  I  covet  the  chap 
lain's  chance  even  more  than  I  do  the  captain's." 

They  drove  in  silence  after  that  for  exactly  three  and 
three  quarter  miles,  which,  at  Tom's  now  modified  pace, 
took  about  five  minutes.  Then  Black  said: 

"I  didn't  answer  the  other  part  of  your  question,  did  I, 
Tom?" 

"About  whether  you'd  go  to  war?"  Tom  turned,  with  a 
satisfied  smile  on  his  lips.  "I've  been  thinking  about  that. 
But  I  guess  you  answered  it,  all  right." 

At  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  Tom  set  Black  down  be 
fore  the  manse.  For  the  last  half-hour  they  had  had  a 
jolly  talk  which  had  ranged  from  guns  to  girls — and  back 
again  to  guns.  Black  seemed  to  know  more  about  the 
guns  than  the  girls,  though  he  had  listened  with  interest 
to  Tom's  remarks  upon  both  subjects,  and  had  contributed 
an  anecdote  or  two  which  had  made  Tom  shout  with  glee. 
When  Black  stood  upon  the  sidewalk,  a  tall,  straight  figure 
in  the  moonlight,  he  held  out  his  hand,  which  Tom  gripped 
eagerly. 


PLAIN  AS  A  PIKESTAFF  79 

"Thank  you  for  the  best  hour  I've  had  in  a  month. 
That  blew  all  the  fog  out  of  my  brain,  and  put  a  wonderful 
new  idea  into  my  head." 

"Mind  telling  me  what  it  is?"  Tom  asked. 

"  If  you'll  keep  it  quiet  till  I  have  it  under  way.  Do  you 
think  we  can  get  a  group  of  fellows,  friends  of  yours  and 
others,  to  come  to  my  house  once  a  week — say  on  Monday 
evenings — to  talk  over  this  war  situation — study  it  up — 
discuss  it  freely — and  plan  what  we  can  do  about  it,  over 
here — before  we  get  over  there?" 

"Do  I  think  so?"  Tom's  tone  spoke  his  pleasure  as  well 
as  the  chuckling  laugh  he  gave.  "Do  I  think  so?  Why, 
the  fellows  will  be  crazy  to  come — after  I  tell  'em  about 
this  drive  and  chin  of  ours.  When  they  know  you  burned 
the  road  with  me  at  such  a  clip  and  never  turned  a  hair, 
they'll  fall  over  one  another  to  get  to  your  house." 

He  enjoyed  to  the  full  the  laugh  he  got  back  from  Black 
at  that — a  deep-keyed,  whole-souled,  delightful  laugh, 
which  told  of  the  richness  of  the  man's  nature.  Then — 

"I'd  drive  at  a  hundred,  hours  on  end,"  declared  Black, 
"to  have  you  fall  in  with  my  schemes  like  that.  Good 
night,  Tom,  and  we'll  organize  that  club  to-morrow." 

"To-day,  you  mean."  Tom  reluctantly  gave  his  motor 
the  signal. 

"To-day.  At  eight  o'clock  to-night.  Be  on  hand  early, 
will  you,  Tom — to  help  me  make  things  go  from  the  start?" 

"  I'll  be  sitting  on  your  doorstep  at  seven  thirty." 

"Good.  I'll  open  the  door  at  seven  twenty-nine. 
Good-night,  Tom." 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Black." 

But  so  slowly  did  Tom  drive  away  that  he  was  not 
out  of  sight  of  the  manse  when  the  door  closed  on  his 
friend  the  minister. 


CHAPTER  VI 
HIGH  LIGHTS 

^  INHERE!"  said  Jane  Ray,  turning  on  one  last  golden 
•*-  electric  bulb  cunningly  concealed.  "I've  used 
every  device  I  know  to  make  the  showing  tell.  Is  it 
effective?  Does  it  all  count,  Mrs.  Burns?  I've  studied 
it  so  much  I  don't  know  any  more." 

Mrs.  Redfield  Pepper  Burns  stood  beside  Miss  Ray 
at  one  end  of  the  long  shop — a  shop  no  longer — and  looked 
down  it  silently  for  a  full  minute  before  she  spoke.  Then: 

"It's  very  wonderful,"  she  said,  in  her  low,  pleasant 
voice.  "I  shouldn't  have  dreamed  that  even  you  could 
do  it.  It  is  effective — it  does  count.  The  appeal,  even 
at  the  first  glance,  is — astonishing." 

"The  question  is — where  has  the  shop  gone?" 

This  was  Miss  Lockhart,  who  was  on  Mrs.  Burns' 
other  side.  All  three  were  in  semi-evening  dress  of  a 
quiet  sort;  and  the  evening  hour  was  just  before  that  set 
for  the  showing  of  the  posters.  Jane  Ray  had  decided 
against  making  a  public  thing  of  her  exhibition;  she  had 
argued  that  that  would  mean  a  large  crowd  and  little 
money.  A  more  exclusive  affair,  with  invitations  dis 
creetly  extended,  ought  to  fill  just  comfortably  her  limi 
ted  space,  and  bring  the  dollars  she  coveted  for  her  Bel 
gians. 

"It  isn't  a  shop  now — it's  a  salon,"  declared  Mrs.  Burns. 
Jane  glowed  at  this — as  well  she  might.  Mrs.  Burns, 

80 


HIGH  LIGHTS  81 

with  her  wealth,  her  experience  of  the  world,  her  per 
sonality  of  exceeding  charm,  knew  whereof  she  spoke. 
Jane  knew  well  that  she  could  not  have  found  a  patroness 
of  her  exhibition  whose  influence  could  help  her  more  than 
that  of  the  wife  of  Red  Pepper  Burns. 

"Yes,  that's  the  word,"  Nan  agreed.  "Miss  Ray  has 
done  wonders.  The  shop  has  always  been  a  perfectly 
charming  place — as  a  shop;  but  to-night  it's  a  colourful 
spot  to  solicit  not  only  the  eye  but  the  heart.  The 
pocket-books  and  purses  will  fly  open — I'm  sure  of  it. 

And  with  Doctor  Burns  to  tell  us  what  we  must  do 

Oh,  no  doubt  but  every  poster  will  be  sold  to-night." 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  Jane  said.  "They  might  be,  if  the 
prices  bid  run  low.  But  I  don't  want  small  prices — I  want 
big  ones — oh,  very  big!  If  people  will  only  understand — 
and  care." 

The  shop  door  opened,  and  R.  P.  Burns  and  Tom  Lock- 
hart  came  in  together,  both  in  evening  dress.  Tom's  face 
was  exultant. 

"I  got  him!"  he  called.  "I  put  out  the  office  lights, 
chloroformed  the  office  nurse,  hauled  him  upstairs,  drew 
his  bath,  and  put  his  clothes  upon  him — and  for  a  finishing 
touch,  to  make  all  tight,  disconnected  the  telephone. 
First  occasion  ever  known  where  he  was  present  at  any 
party  before  the  guests  arrived — not  to  mention  being 
properly  dressed!" 

Red  was  laughing.  He  loomed  above  the  group,  every 
shining  red  hair  in  place,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  eagerness 
for  the  fray.  Not  in  a  long  time  had  he  had  a  part  to  play, 
outside  his  profession,  which  suited  him  so  well.  Himself 
war  mad  from  the  beginning,  impatient  a  thousand  times 
over  at  the  apathy  of  his  fellow-citizens  under  the  con 
stantly  growing  needs  and  demands  of  the  world  struggle, 


82  RED  AND  BLACK 

he  was  welcoming  the  chance  to  try  his  hand  and  voice 
at  warming  the  cold  hearts,  firing  the  imaginations,  and 
reaching  the  pocket-books  thus  far  mostly  shoved  deep 
down  in  the  prosperous  pockets.  To  be  here  to-night  he 
had  worked  like  a  fiend  all  day  to  cover  his  lists  of  calls, 
to  tie  up  every  possible  foreseen  demand.  At  the  last 
moment  he  had  cut  half  a  dozen  strings  which  threatened 
to  bind  him,  instructed  his  office  to  take  no  calls  for  him 
for  the  coming  three  hours,  and  had  fled  away  with  Tom, 
determined  for  once  to  do  his  duty  as  he  saw  it,  and  not  as 
any  persistent  patient  might  see  it. 

"Jolly,  but  this  is  a  stunning  show!"  he  commented, 
gazing  round  him.  "What  lighting!  Why,  you  must 
have  run  wires  everywhere,  Jane!  That  fellow  in  blue 
on  the  horse,  at  the  far  end,  looks  as  if  he  were  galloping 
straight  out  at  us.  You  must  have  been  on  a  hanging 
committee  at  some  art  gallery  some  time  or  other." 

"Never.  And  Mr.  Black  is  responsible  for  the  first 
inspiration  about  the  lighting.  He  has  taken  such  an 
interest.  Did  you  know  he  got  all  these  Raemakers  car 
toons  down  at  the  end  for  me?  They  just  came  to-day — 
he  had  to  wire  and  wire  to  have  them  here  in  time.  They're 
so  splendid — and  so  terrible — I've  put  them  all  by  them 
selves." 

Red  strode  down  the  room.  Nobody  joined  him  while 
he  stared  with  intense  concentration  at  the  merciless  ar 
raignment  of  a  merciless  foe  which  was  in  each  Raemakers 
stroke.  He  came  back  with  a  fresh  fire  in  his  eye. 

"What  can  I  say  that  will  sell  those?  People  will  turn 
away  in  holy  horror,  and  say  the  Dutchman  lies.  He 
hasn't  told  half  the  truth — it  can't  be  told.  I  want  that 
one  last  on  the  line  myself.  I  can't  hang  it,  but  I  can  put 
it  away — and  get  it  out,  now  and  then,  when  my  pity 


HIGH  LIGHTS  83 

slackens.  Oh,  Lord — how  long!  Two  years  and  more 
those  people  have  been  bleeding,  and  still  we  stand  on  the 
outside  and  look  on,  like  gamins  at  a  curbstone  fight! 
Shame  on  us!"  And  Red  ran  his  hand  through  his  thick, 
coppery  locks  again  and  again,  till  they  stood  on  end 
above  his  frowning  brows. 

"Hush,  dear!  Here  come  the  first  people — and  you  are 
one  of  the  receiving  hosts.  You  mustn't  look  so  savage. 
Smooth  down  your  hair — and  smile  again!"  His  wife 
spoke  warnmgly. 

"All  right — I'll  try.  Where's  the  minister?  I  thought 
he  was  going  to  stand  by  to-night?  He  has  a  better  grip 
on  his  feelings  than  I  have.  He  keeps  his  hair  where  it 
belongs.  I'm  too  Irish  for  that." 

"I'm  here."  And  Black  came  up  to  shake  hands, 
ahead  of  the  guests  who  were  alighting  from  a  big  car  out 
side.  "I  was  after  just  one  more  poster — and  got  it  out 
of  the  express  office  at  the  last  minute.  No,  I'm  not  go 
ing  to  show  it  yet.  I  think  it  comes  later." 

"Now  we're  all  six  here — I'm  so  glad,"  whispered  Nan 
Lockhart.  "Do  you  know,  somehow,  I  was  never  so 
proud  in  my  life  of  being  one  of  a  receiving  group.  Noth 
ing  ever  seemed  so  worth  while.  Mr.  Black,  it's  fine  of 
you  to  give  so  much  time  to  this." 

"Fine!  It's  just  an  escape  valve  for  me,  Miss  Lock- 
hart.  Besides,  what  could  be  better  worth  doing  than 
this,  just  now?" 

"Nothing  that  I  can  think  of.  But  it  took  Jane  Ray 
to  conceive  it.  Isn't  she  looking  beautifully  distinguished 
to-night,  in  that  perfectly  ripping  smoke-blue  gown,  and 
her  hair  so  shiningly  smooth  and  close?" 

"Ripping?"  repeated  Black,  his  eyes  following  Miss 
Ray  as  she  went  forward  to  welcome  her  first  guests.  "  It's 


84  RED  AND  BLACK 

very  plain — and  unobtrusive.  I  shouldn't  have  noticed  it. 
She  does  look  distinguished,  as  you  say,  but  it  isn't  the 
dress,  is  it?" 

Nan  laughed.  "How  that  would  please  her!  The 
dress  is  plain  and  unobtrusive — and  absolutely  perfect  in 
every  line!  It  makes  what  I'm  wearing  look  so  fussy  I 
want  to  go  home  and  change  it!  Jane  has  a  genius  for 
knowing  how  to  look  like  a  picture.  I  suppose  that's  the 
artist  in  her.  Do  you  know,  I  think  the  people  who  are 
asked  here  to-night  feel  particularly  flattered  by  an  invita 
tion  from  Jane?  Isn't  that  quite  an  achievement — for  a 
shopkeeper?" 

"That  word  doesn't  seem  to  apply  to  her,  somehow,'* 
said  Black,  and  changed  the  subject  rather  abruptly. 
Two  minutes  later  he  had  left  Miss  Lockhart,  to  greet 
one  of  his  elderly  parishioners,  a  rich  widow  who  bore 
down  upon  him  in  full  sail.  Nan  Lockhart  looked 
after  him  with  an  amused  expression  about  her  well-cut 
mouth. 

"You  didn't  like  my  calling  her  a  shopkeeper.  And 
you  don't  intend  to  discuss  any  girl  with  me  or  anybody 
else,  do  you,  Mr.  Black  ? "  she  said  to  herself.  "All  right — be 
discreet,  like  the  saint  you  are  supposed  to  be — and  really 
are,  for  the  most  part,  I  think.  But  you're  pretty  human, 
too.  And  Fanny  Fitch  is  wearing  a  frock  and  hat  to 
night  that  I  think  even  you  will  be  forced  to  notice." 

It  wfcs  not  long  before  she  had  an  opportunity  to  test  the 
truth  of  this  prediction.  The  room  filled  rapidly,  the 
narrow  street  outside  becoming  choked  with  cars.  Among 
the  early  comers  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Samuel  Lockhart 
and  Miss  Fitch.  As  Fanny  appeared  in  the  ever  length 
ening  line  of  arrivals,  Nan  found  herself  waiting  with  in 
terest  for  the  moment  when  she  should  reach  Jane  Ray 


HIGH  LIGHTS  85 

and  Robert  Black,  who,  as  it  chanced  just  then,  stood  near 
each  other. 

No  doubt  but  Miss  Fitch  was  a  charmer.  Even  Nan 
was  forced  to  admit  that  she  had  never  seen  Fanny  more 
radiant.  As  she  glanced  from  Fanny  to  Jane  and  back 
again  the  comparison  which  occurred  to  her  was  that  be 
tween  a  gray-blue  pigeon  and  a  bird  of  Paradise?  And 
yet — there  was  nothing  dull  about  Jane — and  nothing 
flaunting  about  Fanny.  It  was  not  a  matter  of  clothes 
and  colour  after  all,  it  was  an  affair  of  personality.  Jane 
zvas  beautifully  distinguished  in  appearance — Nan  had 
chosen  the  right  words  to  describe  her — and  Fanny  was 
exquisitely  lovely  to  look  at.  And  there  you  were — sim 
ply  nowhere  in  estimating  the  two,  unless  you  had  some 
thing  more  to  go  by  than  looks.  Nan,  with  intimate 
knowledge  of  Fanny  Fitch  and  an  acquaintance  with 
Jane  Ray  which  offered  one  of  the  most  interesting  attrac 
tions  she  had  ever  felt  toward  a  member  of  her  own  sex, 
found  herself  wondering  how  any  man  who  should  chance 
on  this  evening  to  meet  them  both  for  the  first  time  might 
succeed  in  characterizing  them,  afterward,  for  the  benefit, 
say,  of  an  invalid  mother! 

It  was  great  fun,  and  as  good  as  a  play,  she  reflected,  to 
see  Jane  and  Fanny  meet.  If  there  was  the  slightest 
touch  of  condescension  in  Fanny's  manner  as  she  ap 
proached  her  hostess,  it  had  no  choice  but  to  disappear 
before  Jane's  adorable  poise.  Nobody  could  condescend 
to  Jane.  It  wasn't  that  she  didn't  permit  it — it  simply 
couldn't  exist  in  the  presence  of  that  straightforward 
young  individuality  of  hers.  From  the  top  of  her  satiny 
smooth,  high-held,  dark  head,  to  the  toe  of  the  smart 
little  slipper  which  matched  the  blue  of  her  gown,  she  was 
quietly  sure  of  herself.  And  beside  her  some  of  the  town's 


86  RED  AND  BLACK 

most  aristocratic  matrons  and  maids  looked  decidedly  less 
the  aristocrat  than  Jane! 

Around  the  edges  of  the  room  moved  the  guests, 
in  low-voiced  smiling  orderliness,  scanning  the  posters, 
large  and  small,  so  cunningly  displayed,  with  every  art  of 
concealed  lighting  to  show  them  off.  The  appeal  of  some 
was  only  in  the  flaming  patriotism  of  the  vigorous  lines 
and  brilliant  colouring;  in  others  all  the  cunning  of  the 
painter's  brush  had  wrought  to  produce  a  restrained  yet 
thrilling  effect  hardly  second  to  that  of  a  finished  picture. 
The  subjects  were  taken  from  everywhere;  from  the 
trenches,  from  No  Man's  Land,  from  civilian  homes, 
from  the  cellars  of  the  outcasts  and  exiles.  And  as  the 
people  whom  Jane  had  invited  to  this  strange  exhibit 
moved  on  and  on,  past  one  heart-stirring  sketch  to  an 
other,  the  smiles  on  many  lips  died  out,  and  now  and  then 
one  saw  more  than  a  hint  of  rising  tears  quickly  sup 
pressed.  Those  who  could  look  at  that  showing,  un 
moved,  were  few. 

And  yet,  presently  when  Burns  was  upon  his  platform, 
offering  his  first  poster  for  sale,  though  it  went  quickly, 
it  was  at  no  high  price.  Following  this,  he  took  the  least 
appealing;  and  so  on,  in  due  course,  and  the  bids  still  ran 
low.  Little  by  little,  however,  he  forced  them  up — con 
siderably  more  by  the  tell-tale  expression  upon  his  face, 
when  he  was  dissatisfied  with  a  bid,  than  by  what  he  said. 
As  an  auctioneer,  Red  had  begun  his  effort  a  little  dis 
appointingly  to  those  who  expected  his  words,  backed 
by  his  personality,  to  do  great  things  from  the  start.  The 
explanation  he  gave  to  Jane  Ray,  in  a  minute's  interval, 
was  undoubtedly  the  true  one. 

"  If  they  were  all  men,  I  could  bully  them  into  it.  Some 
how,  these  well-dressed  women  stifle  me.  I'm  not  used 


HIGH  LIGHTS  87 

to  facing  them,  except  professionally.  What's  the  matter  ? 
Shall  I  let  go  and  fire  straight,  at  any  risk  of  offending? 
They  ought  to  be  offering  five  times  as  much,  you  know. 
They  simply  aren't  taking  this  thing  seriously,  and  I 
don't  know  how  to  make  them." 

"If  you  can't  make  them,  I  don't  know  who  could. 
Yes,  speak  plainly — why  not?  We  ought  not  to  be 
getting  tens  and  twenties  for  such  posters  as  those  last 
three — each  one  should  have  brought  a  hundred  at  least. 
Try  this  one  next,  please." 

Burns  stood  straight  again.  He  held  up  the  sheet  Jane 
offered  him.  It  was  a  bit  of  wonderful  colouring,  showing 
a  group  of  French  peasants  staring  up  at  an  airplane  high 
overhead — the  first  British  flier  on  his  way  to  the  Front. 
The  awe,  the  faith  in  those  watching  eyes,  was  touching. 

"Give  me  a  hundred  for  this,  won't  you?"  he  called. 
"Start  the  bid  at  that,  and  then  send  it  flying.  Never 
mind  whether  you  want  the  poster  or  not.  Some  day  it 
will  be  valuable — if  not  in  money,  then  in  sentiment. 
Now,  then,  who  speaks?" 

Nobody  spoke.  Then:  "Oh,  come,  Doctor,"  said  one 
rotund  gentleman,  laughing,  "you  can't  rob  us  that  way. 
The  thing's  a  cheap,  machine-coloured  print — interesting, 
certainly,  but  no  more.  I'll  give  you  ten  for  it — that's 
enough.  There's  just  one  poster  in  the  whole  show  that's 
worth  a  hundred  dollars — and  that's  the  man  on  the 
horse.  When  you  offer  that  I'll  be  prepared  to  see  you." 

"The  man  on  the  horse  goes  for  not  a  cent  under  five 
hundred,"  declared  Burns,  fiercely.  "Starts  at  that — 
and  ends  at  seven — eight — nine — a  thousand!  Mean 
while " 

But  he  couldn't  do  it.  It  was  a  polite,  suburban  com 
pany,  no  great  wealth  in  it,  just  comfortably  prosperous 


88  RED  AND  BLACK 

people,  not  particularly  patriotic  as  yet.  The  time  was 
to  come  when  they  would  see  things  differently,  but  at 
that  period  of  the  Great  War  they  were  mostly  cold  to  the 
needs  of  the  sufferers  three  thousand  miles  away.  They 
saw  no  reason  why  Jane  Ray  should  invite  them  to  an 
exclusive  showing  of  her  really  quite  entertaining  collec 
tion,  and  then  expect  them  to  open  their  pocket-books 
into  her  lap.  Each  one  intended  to  buy  one  poster,  of 
course,  out  of  courtesy  to  Jane,  but — the  lower  priced  the 
better.  And  all  the  lower-priced  ones  were  sold.  The 
bidding  went  slack,  all  but  died.  Burns  took  out  his  big 
white  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  brow,  smiling  ruefully 
down  at  Jane,  who  nodded  encouragingly  back.  But  even 
that  encouraging  nod  couldn't  tell  Red  how  to  do  it. 

Before  this  distressing  stage  in  the  proceedings  had  been 
reached,  Black,  with  a  lightning-like  working  of  the  mind, 
had  been  making  plans  of  his  own  in  case  they  should  be 
needed.  He  had  stood  beside  Nan  Lockhart,  at  the  back 
of  the  room,  his  arms  folded,  his  eyes  watching  closely  the 
scene  before  him.  He  did  not  look  at  all,  as  he  stood 
there,  like  a  man  who  could  take  an  auctioneer's  place 
and  "get  away  with  it,"  as  the  modern  expressive  phrase 
goes.  In  his  clerical  dress,  his  dark  hair  very  smooth 
above  his  clear  brow,  his  eyes  intent,  his  lips  unconsciously 
pressed  rather  firmly  together  under  the  influence  of  his 
anxiety  for  Burns'  success  in  the  difficult  task,  Black's 
appearance  suggested  rather  that  of  a  restrained  onlooker 
at  a  race  who  watches  a  favourite  jockey,  than  that  of  one 
who  longs  to  leap  into  the  saddle  and  dash  round  the 
course  himself,  to  win  the  race.  But  this  was  precisely 
what  he  was  aching  to  do. 

Deeply  as  he  admired  the  clever  surgeon,  much  as  he 
hoped  for  the  friendship  of  the  highly  intelligent  man, 


HIGH  LIGHTS  89 

he  was  not  long  in  finding  out  that  Red  had  not  been 
built  for  a  persuader  in  public  places.  If  the  red-headed 
doctor  had  been  confronted  with  a  desperate  case  of 
emergency  surgery,  he  could  have  flung  off  his  coat,  rolled 
up  his  sleeves,  commandeered  an  amateur  nurse  for  an 
assistant,  and  achieved  a  victory  as  brilliant  as  it  was 
spectacular.  Doubtless,  Black  reflected,  if  it  had  been  a 
matter  of  partisan  politics,  and  an  enemy  to  the  good  of  the 
state  had  met  Red  in  open  debate,  the  doctor  could  have 
downed  him  in  three  rounds  by  sheer  force  of  clean-cut 
argument  and  an  arm  thrown  high  in  convincing  gesture. 
But — given  a  roomful  of  well-to-do  people,  not  overmuch 
interested  in  Belgian  orphans,  and  a  man  trying  to  sell 
them  something  they  didn't  want  for  more  than  they  had 
any  idea  of  paying  for  it — well — Red  simply  couldn't  do  it, 
that  was  all.  And  Miss  Ray,  in  picking  him  out  for  the 
job  on  account  of  his  popularity  and  his  well-known  fear 
lessness  in  telling  people  what  they  must  do — Miss  Ray 
had  simply  missed  it,  that  was  all.  It  was  an  error  in 
judgment,  and  nobody  was  seeing  that  more  clearly  than 
Jane  herself,  as  Black  discovered  by  each  glance  at  her. 

She  was  standing  at  Red's  elbow,  handing  him  up 
posters  one  by  one,  and  giving  the  buyer  a  charming 
glance  of  gratitude  for  each  purchase  as  she  moved  for 
ward  to  hand  the  poster  spoken  for.  But  her  usually 
warm  colour  had  receded  a  little,  her  lips,  between  the 
smiles,  seemed  a  trifle  set,  and  a  peculiar  sense  of  her 
disappointment  reached  across  the  room  and  impressed 
itself  upon  Black  as  definitely  as  if  she  had  signalled  to 
him.  Just  once  he  caught  her  eyes,  as  if  in  search  of  his, 
and  he  found  himself  giving  her  back  a  look  of  sympathy 
and  understanding.  He  was  longing  to  come  to  her  aid. 
Would  it  be  possible,  in  any  way,  to  do  that?  He  was  ac- 


90  RED  AND  BLACK 

customed  to  facing  people,  in  the  mass,  as  Red  was  not, 
and  accustomed  to  handling  them,  to  reading  from  their 
faces  what  would  influence  them;  in  plain  words,  to  being 
master  of  them,  and  leading  them  whither  they  would  not 
voluntarily  go.  Would  the  moment  conceivably  come  when 
he  could  step  into  the  breach  and,  without  offending  Red 
or  seeming  presumptuous,  take  his  place? 

At  least  he  could  be  prepared.  And  as  his  mind  worked, 
led  by  Red's  very  mistakes  into  seeing  what  might  offset 
them,  a  suggestion  suddenly  shaped  itself.  Instantly  he 
acted  upon  it.  He  beckoned  Tom  Lockhart,  took  him 
quietly  aside  into  the  half-lighted  rear  shop  where  the  big 
antique  pieces  removed  from  the  larger  room  to  make  space 
crowded  one  another  unmercifully,  and  spoke  under  his 
breath : 

"Tom,  you  have  more  nerve  than  any  fellow  I  know. 
Around  the  corner,  on  Seventh  Street,  at  the  Du  Bois's, 
there's  a  Belgian  baby — came  to-day.  Please  go  and 
ask  them  for  it,  will  you? — and  hurry  back.  Tell  them 
to  pick  it  out  of  the  cradle  just  as  it  is,  wrap  a  shawl  around 
it,  and  let  you  bring  it  here.  They're  French — they'll 
understand — I  was  there  to-day.  Quick!" 

With  a  smothered  whoop  Tom  was  off,  and  Black 
returned  to  the  larger  room,  remaining,  however,  near  the 
door  of  the  back  shop.  Ten  minutes  later  an  eager  whisper 
through  a  crack  of  that  door  summoned  him  and  he  slipped 
out  to  find  Tom  gingerly  holding  a  bundle  from  one  end 
of  which  protruded  a  dark  little  head. 

"Here  he  is — poor  little  cuss!  He's  about  the  most 
whipped  looking  specimen  I  ever  saw.  Think  he'll  sell  a 
poster?  He's  sold  one  already — blamed  if  he  hasn't — at 
the  best  price  Tommy  Boy  can  afford." 

"Keep  him  quiet  here  for  a  bit,  can  you,  Tom?     I'll 


HIGH  LIGHTS  91 

come  for  him  when  I  think  his  chance  is  ripe.  Will  he 
keep  still?" 

"Too  used  to  shifting  for  himself  not  to  keep  still,  I 
guess."  Tom  gazed  pityingly  into  the  thin  little  face 
with  its  big  eyes  regarding  him  steadily  in  the  dim  light 
of  the  outer  room.  "All  right,  I'll  keep  him  quiet.  But 
don't  hold  off  the  crisis  too  long.  R.  P.'s  about  at  the 
end  of  his  wind.  First  time  in  my  life  I  ever  saw  Doctor 
in  a  corner,  but  he's  sure  in  one  now." 

"He's  done  nobly;  we  just  aren't  educated  up  to  the 
idea  yet,  that's  all.  Baby  may  not  help  out,  but  we'll 
try."" 

Black  went  back.  Red  turned  and  gave  him  a  look 
as  he  came  in  which  said,  "I  wish  I  were  about  a  million 
miles  away  from  here.  How  in  thunder  do  you  do  it?" 
As  if  the  thought  were  father  to  the  demand  he  suddenly 
beckoned  and  spoke: 

"Mr.  Black,  suppose  you  come  up  here  and  tell  us  about 
these  last — and  best — posters.  My  oratory  has  run  out. 
I  know  you  have  one  poster  of  your  own  you  haven't 
shown — isn't  it  time  for  that  now?" 

Black  smiled  up  at  him — a  friendly  smile  which  an 
swered:  "I'd  like  nothing  better  than  to  help  you  out, 
old  fellow!"  But  aloud  he  said:  "Rather  a  telling  one 
has  just  been  brought  in  by  Mr.  Thomas  Lockhart.  With 
your  permission  I'll  be  glad  to  show  it  to  everybody." 

And  with  that  he  was  out  of  the  room  and  back  again, 
and  the  baby — out  of  its  wrappings,  its  thin,  tiny  frame, 
pinched  face  and  claw-like  hands  showing  with  a  dumb 
eloquence — was  held  cosily  in  the  tall  minister's  left  arm, 
and  his  right  hand  was  gently  smoothing  back  the  curly 
black  locks  from  the  wistful  little  brow.  He  took  one  step 
upon  the  platform  Red  was  about  to  vacate,  and  looked 


92  RED  AND  BLACK 

down  into  the  upturned  faces.  "Don't  go  yet,  please, 
Doctor,"  he  requested,  in  the  other's  ear.  Reluctantly 
Burns  waited,  scanning  the  baby. 

"There  isn't  anything  I  can  say,  ladies  and  gentlemen," 
Black  began,  very  quietly,  and  looking  back  into  the  small 
face  as  he  went  on.  "It's  all  said  by  this  little  chap. 
He's  just  been  brought  over  to  this  country,  with  scores 
more,  by  the  Committee  for  Belgian  Relief.  A  kind- 
hearted  French  family  near  by  have  offered  to  care  for  him 
until  a  home  can  be  found.  The  father  of  this  family  was 
at  the  pier  when  the  ship  came  in,  saw  this  baby,  and 
brought  him  home  with  him.  It  is  for  hundreds  of  such 
little  forlorn  creatures  as  he  that  Miss  Ray  wants  to  raise 
the  largest  sum  we  are  able  to  give  her.  We  can't  con 
ceive  how  much  money  is  needed,  but  we  can't  possibly 
make  the  amount  too  large." 

The  absolute  simplicity  of  this  little  speech — for  this 
was  all  he  said — coupled  with  the  touching  appeal  of  the 
baby  in  his  arms,  was  what  did  it;  Mrs.  Burns  and  Nan 
and  Jane  all  said  so  afterward.  With  the  instinct  for  the 
right  course  at  the  right  moment  which  is  the  peculiar  gift 
of  the  public  speaker,  Black  divined,  at  the  instant  that  he 
came  upon  the  platform,  that  the  fewer  his  words  the 
more  loudly  would  the  tiny,  silent  figure  do  its  own  solicit 
ing.  And  so  it  proved. 

"Please  show  the  Belgian  posters,  Doctor  Burns," 
Black  suggested,  and  Red,  taking  them  from  Jane's  hands, 
held  them  up  one  by  one  without  comment.  And  one  by 
one  they  were  bid  off,  while  Black  stood  and  held  the  baby 
and  looked  on,  his  eyes  eloquent  of  his  interest.  Bid  off 
at  sums  which  ranged  higher  and  higher,  as  the  company, 
now  as"  ardent"  in]  the  cause  of  the  living,  breathing  baby 
before  them  as  they  had  been  apathetic  in  that  of  his 


HIGH  LIGHTS  93 

small  compatriots  across  the  sea  of  whom  they  had  only 
heard,  vied  with  each  other  to  prove  that  they  could  be 
generous  when  they  really  saw  the  reason  why. 

"I'd  certainly  like  a  picture  of  Mr.  Black  and  that  baby 
at  this  minute,"  murmured  Fanny  Fitch  in  the  ear  of  Nan 
Lockhart,  as  she  returned  from  a  trip  to  the  front  of  the 
room,  where  she  had  recklessly  emptied  a  gold  mesh-bag 
to  buy  that  for  which  she  did  not  care  at  all.  She  had 
looked  up  into  Robert  Black's  face  as  she  stood  below  him, 
and  had  received  one  of  those  strictly  impartial  smiles 
which  he  was  now  bestowing  upon  everybody  who  asked 
for  them;  and  she  had  come  away  thoroughly  determined 
to  secure  for  herself,  before  much  more  time  had  passed, 
a  smile  which  should  be  purely  personal. 

"He  does  look  dear  with  the  baby,"  admitted  Nan, 
heartily.  "He  holds  him  as  if  he  had  held  babies  all  his 
life.  Oh,  it's  splendid,  the  way  things  are  going  now. 
How  was  he  inspired  to  get  that  child?" 

"Eye  for  the  dramatic,  my  dear,"  suggested  her  friend. 
"All  successful  ministers  have  it.  The  unsuccessful  ones 
lack  it,  and  go  around  wondering  why  their  schemes  fail. 
It's  perfectly  legitimate — and  it  makes  them  much  more 
interesting.  The  Reverend  Robert  looks  as  innocent  as 
the  child  in  his  arms,  but  he's  really  a  born  actor." 

"Fanny  Fitch!     How  ridiculous!" 

"If  he  weren't  he  would  have  rushed  up  there  with  the 
baby  and  harangued  us  for  fifteen  minutes  about  the  needs 
of  the  Belgians.  But  he  has  the  dramatic  sense  just  to 
stand  there  looking  like  a  young  father  angel,  with  those 
dark  brows  of  his  bent  on  the  poor  child,  and  we  fall  for 
him  like  the  idiots  we  are — as  he  knew  we  would.  I  never 
dreamed  of  spending  that  last  ten  dollars.  I  didn't  spend 
it  for  the  Belgians  at  all.  I  spent  it  for  Robert  Black!" 


94  RED  AND  BLACK 

"I'm  glad  you're  frank  enough  to  admit  it." 
"What's  the  use  in  trying  to  conceal  anything  from  you, 
Sharp  Eyes?"     And  Miss  Fitch  returned  to  her  occupa 
tion  of  observing  the  events  now  transpiring  up  in  front, 
with  a  pair  of  lustrous  eyes  which  missed  no  detail. 

Jane's  receptacle  for  the  money  handed  her  was  nearly 
full  now.  It  was  a  beautiful  big  bowl  of  Sheffield  plate, 
one  of  the  best  in  her  collection,  and  it  had  called  forth 
much  admiring  comment.  Red  sold  his  last  poster — not 
all  were  for  sale.  This  last  one  was  the  great  "man  on 
the  horse,"  galloping  with  sword  upraised  and  mouth 
shouting — the  most  vivid  and  striking  of  all,  though  to 
the  eye  of  the  connoisseur  worth  far  less  than  some  of 
quieter  and  more  subtle  suggestion.  It  was  promptly 
bid  in  by  the  rotund  gentleman  who  had  challenged  Red 
half  an  hour  before,  and  he  named  so  high  a  figure  that 
he  had  no  contestants.  He  received  his  purchase  with  a 
large  gesture  of  triumph  and  pleasure  with  himself,  and 
Jane,  accepting  his  check,  written  with  a  flourish,  gave 
him  the  expression  of  gratitude  he  had  coveted. 

She  took  the  baby  from  Black,  then,  saying:  "Your 
poster — hasn't  the  time  come?  Won't  you  show  it  your 
self,  please?" 

"I  want  to,  if  I  may.     But  it's  not  for  sale." 
"Oh!    Then  we  have  all  we  are  to  get  to-night." 
"  I'm  not  sure.     Yes — I  think  we  have  all  we  are  to  get — 
to-night.     But — perhaps  we  have  something  to  give." 

She  didn't  understand — how  should  she?  She  watched 
him  go  back  to  the  little  platform,  its  boards  covered  with 
a  fine  rug  and  its  backing  a  piece  of  valuable  French  tapes 
try  above  which  hung  the  French  and  Belgian  flags. 
Jane  had  conceived  this  effective  setting  for  her  auctioneer, 
but  it  was  none  the  less  effective  for  the  man  who  had 


HIGH  LIGHTS  95 

taken  Burns'  place.  Standing  there  he  slowly  unrolled 
the  poster,  and  the  people  before  him  ceased  their  buzzing 
talk  to  watch,  for  something  in  his  face  told  them  that 
here  was  that  which  they  must  not  miss. 

Ah,  but  this  was  an  original!  How  had  he  procured  it? 
It  was  a  strip  of  canvas  which  Black  unrolled  and  silently 
held  up  before  the  hundred  pairs  of  gazing  eyes.  And  as 
they  looked,  the  last  whisper  gave  way  to  a  stillness  which 
was  its  own  commentary  on  and  tribute  to  the  story  told 
by  an  artist  who  was  somehow  different  from  the  rest. 

The  colouring  of  the  picture — it  was  a  poster  like  the 
others — was  all  rich  blues  and  browns,  with  a  hint  of  yellow 
and  one  gleam  of  white.  The  background  was  a  dim  hud 
dle  of  ruins  and  battle  smoke.  Close  in  the  foreground  were 
two  figures — a  stalwart  British  soldier  in  khaki  and  steel 
hat  supporting  a  wounded  Frenchman  in  the  "horizon 
blue"  of  the  French  army,  his  bare  head  bandaged  and 
drooping  upon  his  chest.  These  two  figures  alone  were 
infinitely  touching,  but  that  which  gave  the  picture  its 
thrilling  appeal  was  that  at  which  the  Briton,  his  hand  at 
the  salute,  was  gazing  over  the  bent  head  of  his  comrade. 
And  of  that,  at  the  extreme  left  of  the  picture,  all  that 
one  saw  was  a  rough  wooden  post,  and  upon  it,  nailed  to 
it  by  the  rigid  feet,  two  still,  naked  limbs.  A  roadside 
Calvary — or  the  suggestion  of  it — that  was  all  one  saw. 
But  the  look  in  the  saluting  soldier's  rugged  face  was  one 
of  awe — and  adoration. 

Black  held  the  canvas  for  a  long  minute,  his  own  grave 
face  turned  toward  it.  Not  even  Fanny  Fitch,  in  her 
cynical  young  heart,  could  dare  to  accuse  him  of  "acting" 
now.  The  silence  over  the  room  was  breathless — it  was 
the  hush  which  tells  its  story  unmistakably.  Before  it 
could  be  broken,  Black  lowered  the  canvas. 


96  RED  AND  BLACK 

"That's  all,"  he  said.  "It  brought  it  home  to  me  so 
powerfully  what  is  happening  'over  there' — I  just  wanted 
you  to  see  it,  too.  That's  where  the  gifts  you  have 
given  to-night  are  going." 

"Mr.  Black — "  It  was  Mr.  Samuel  Lockhart,  speak 
ing  in  a  low  voice  from  the  front — "  is  that — to  be  bought  ?" 

"It  is  mine,  Mr.  Lockhart.     It  is  not  for  sale." 

"It  is  wonderful,"  said  the  elder  man,  with  reverence. 

Black  rolled  the  canvas,  and  crossing  the  room  put  it 
out  of  sight.  When  he  came  back  a  little  crowd  surrounded 
the  Belgian  baby,  in  Jane's  arms. 

The  assemblage  took  its  leave  with  apparent  reluctance. 
In  the  suburban  town  there  had  been  nothing  just  like 
this  evening  in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  present.  Those 
who  carried  posters  with  them  held  them  rather  ostenta 
tiously;  those  who  had  none  were  explaining,  some  of 
them,  that  they  had  not  been  able  to  secure  the  ones 
they  wanted,  but  that  they  had  been  happy  to  contribute 
something  to  so  worthy  a  fund. 

"Quite  unique,  and  certainly  very  delightfully  man 
aged,"  one  stout  matron  said  to  Jane  as  she  extended  a 
cordial  hand.  "You  had  courage,  my  dear,  to  attempt 
this  here.  You  must  have  raised  mor^  than  you  could 
have  expected." 

"I  haven't  counted  it,"  Jane  answei  d.  "It's  been  a 
happy  thing  to  try  to  do  it — I'm  very  grateful  to  you  all." 

When  the  last  had  gone,  except  the  five  who  had  been 
her  helpers,  she  sat  down  with  the  Sheffield  bowl  in  her 
lap,  and  Red  took  his  place  beside  her,  to  help  her  count. 
Tom,  having  run  home  with  the  baby,  was  back  again, 
eagerly  hanging  over  Red's  shoulder  as  he  put  bills  of  the 
same  denomination  together,  and  sorted  silver.  The 
other  three  looked  on,  eagerly  awaiting  the  result. 


HIGH  LIGHTS  97 

Red  announced  the  sum  total — it  was  a  goodly  sum, 
running  well  into  the  hundreds.  He  looked  up  at  Black. 

"Three  fourths  of  that  came  in  after  you  brought  up 
that  blamed  little  beggar,"  he  said.  "And  the  things 
you  didn't  say  were  what  turned  the  trick!  By  George, 
you  taught  me  a  lesson  to-night.  Speech  may  be  silver, 
but  a  silence  like  that  of  yours  sure  was  golden.  I  didn't 
know  any  man  of  your  profession  understood  it  so  well. 
Hanged  if  I  don't  keep  my  tongue  between  my  teeth, 
after  this!" 

A  burst  of  appreciatively  skeptical  laughter  from  those 
who  knew  him  answered  this.  But  Black,  though  he 
smiled  too,  answered  soberly:  "There's  a  time  for  every 
thing.  You  plowed — and  the  baby  harrowed,  that  was 
all.  The  Belgian  fund  reaps.  I  know  we're  all  mighty 
happy  about  it." 

When  he  left,  a  few  minutes  later,  Jane  Ray  gave  him 
the  sort  of  handshake,  with  her  firm  young  hand  closing 
with  his  in  full  reciprocity,  which  one  man  gives  to  an 
other. 

"I  can't  thank  you,"  she  said.  "It  was  wonderfully 
done.  But — do  you  mind  telling? — you  must  have  held 
many  babies!" 

How  Black  himself  laughed  then,  his  head  thrown  back, 
his  white  teeth  gleaming.  "Being  a  woman,  that's  what 
you  get  out  of  it,"  he  said.  "Yes — I've  held  every  one 
I  could  ever  get  hold  of.  I  like  them  a  bit  bigger  than 
that — a  regular  armful.  Poor  'blamed  little  beggar' — as 
the  Doctor  called  him!  But  he'll  be  an  armful  some  day. 
We'll  see  to  that." 

"You  bet  we  will,"  declared  Tom,  who  had  been  linger 
ing  to  get  away  with  Black.  "Night,  Miss  Ray.  I'll  be 
around  in  the  morning  to  help  you  move  things  back. 


98  RED  AND  BLACK 

Don't  you  touch  a  darned  thing  till  I  come.  Promise!  I 
say,  aren't  you  grateful  to  me?  I  borrowed  that  baby, 
and  brought  him  here,  too.  The  attention  I  attracted  was 
awful.  I  had  about  ten  dozen  street  kids  with  me  all 
the  way.  Maybe  that  wasn't  just  as  useful  a  stunt  as 
standing  up  and^aying  things,  under  the  Belgian  flag — • 
eh?" 

She  sent  him  her  most  adorable  look.  "Mr.  Tom, 
you're  a  trump.  You  have  my  deepest  appreciation — and 
good-night!" 

"I  say,"  said  Tom,  a  minute  later,  when  they  were  well 
away,  "I  call  her  some  girl.  She's — she's — well,  she's  a 
regular  fellow — and  you  know  how  I  mean  that,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Black,  looking  fixedly  up  the  street,  as  if 
he  saw  there  something  which  interested  him  very  much. 
"I  know  how  you  mean  that.  I  think  you  are — right. 
Tom,  would  you  object  to  telling  me  what  all  those  women 
meant  about  my  holding  that  baby?  How  on  earth  did 
I  hold  it  differently  from  the  way  any  man  would  hold  it?" 

"Young  Mrs.  Germain  told  me,"  said  Tom,  chuckling 
with  glee,  "that  you  held  it  in  your  left  arm.  They  said 
nobody  except  an  old  hand  would  do  that.  To  have  your 
right  free  to  do  other  things — see?  I  never  understood 
about  that  before.  I  carried  the  kid  on  my  right  arm." 

"After  this,"  declared  Robert  McPherson  Black,  firmly, 
"if  I  ever  have  occasion  to  hold  an  infant  in  public,  I  shall 
do  it  with  my  right  arm!" 


CHAPTER  VII 
RATHER  A  BIG  THING 

BLACK  was  standing  in  the  vestibule  of  a  train  which 
was  bringing  him  back,  at  a  late  hour,  from  the  city 
where  he  had  spent  the  day  at  a  conference  of  clergymen. 
He  was  somewhat  weary,  for  the  day  had  been  filled  with 
long  debate  over  a  certain  question  which  had  seemed 
to  him  vital  indeed  but  not  debatable.  He  had  not  hesi 
tated  to  say  so,  and  had  been  delayed  after  the  evening 
session  was  over  by  men  who  still  wanted  to  talk  it  out 
interminably  with  him.  He  had  missed  his  trolley  and 
had  therefore  taken  the  train. 

As  the  train  drew  in  Black  found  himself  crowded  next 
a  young  man  who  seemed  to  be  suffering  from  an  excessive 
nervousness.  He  was  tall  and  thin,  rather  handsome  of 
face,  but  with  eyes  so  deeply  shadowed  that  they  sug 
gested  extreme  and  recent  illness.  His  manner  was  so 
shaky,  as  he  went  down  the  steps  ahead  of  Black,  and 
he  set  down  his  bag  upon  the  platform  with  such  a  ges 
ture  of  supreme  fatigue,  that  Black  stopped  to  find  out  if 
he  were  indeed  ill,  and  if  he  needed  help.  At  trie  same 
moment  the  stranger  looked  round  at  him,  and  put  a 
question  in  a  quick,  breathless  voice  which  indicated  both 
anxiety  and  difficulty  at  self-control. 

"Can  you  tell  me,"  he  jerked  out,  "where  Miss  Ray's 
shop  is — antique  shop — Jane  Ray?  I  ought  to  know — 
forgotten  the  street." 

99 


ioo  RED  AND  BLACK 

Black  hesitated.  Send  this  unknown  and  unnatural 
young  man  to  Jane  at  this  late  hour?  He  looked  both 
dissipated  and  irresponsible,  and  Black  thought  he  caught 
the  odour  of  alcohol  upon  his  breath. 

"It's  late.  The  shop  will  be  closed,"  Black  suggested. 
"Hadn't  you  better  go  to  a  hotel  to-night,  and  look  it  up 
in  the  morning?" 

The  stranger  frowned,  and  answered  irritably — almost 
angrily : 

"I  should  say  not.  Miss  Ray's  my  sister.  Will  you 
tell  me  where  the  shop  is,  or  have  I  got  to  find  somebody 
who  will?" 

Black  made  a  quick  decision.  "I'll  show  you  the  way. 
It's  not  far  out  of  my  course." 

His  eyes  searched  the  stranger's  face,  to  find  there  con 
firmation  of  the  statement  which  otherwise  he  would  not 
have  been  inclined  to  believe.  The  resemblance,  taking 
into  account  the  difference  between  Jane's  look  of  vital 
ity  and  radiant  energy,  and  this  young  man's  whole  as 
pect  of  broken  health  and  overwrought  nerves,  was  very 
apparent.  And  as  the  stranger  looked  down  the  platform, 
and  his  profile  was  presented  to  Black's  scrutiny,  he  saw 
that  the  same  definite  outlines  of  beauty  and  distinction 
were  there,  not  to  be  mistaken.  On  this  basis  he  could 
have  no  hesitation  in  guiding  the  markedly  feeble  foot 
steps  to  her  door,  though  he  was  wondering,  rather  anx 
iously,  just  what  his  arrival,  evidently  unexpected  by  her, 
would  mean  to  her.  Black  had  never  heard  anybody 
mention  her  having  a  brother — he  had  understood  she 
was  quite  alone  in  the  world. 

The  two  set  out  down  the  street.  The  young 
man  walked  so  falteringly  that  after  a  minute  Black 
took  his  well-worn  leather  bag  away  from  him,  saying 


RATHER  A  BIG  THING  101 

pleasantly:  "Let  me  carry  it.  You're  not  quite  fit,  I'm 
sure." 

The  other  glowered.  "Not  fit!  What  do  you  mean 
by  that?  I'm  fit  enough — I'm  just  worn  out,  that's  all. 
Overwork — illness — nerves — I'm  all  in.  But  if  you  mean 
to  imply " 

"I  don't  mean  to  imply  anything,  Mr.  Ray — if  that  is 
your  name.  I  can  see  you  have  been  ill.  Let  me  put 
my  hand  under  your  arm,  won't  you?  I'd  call  a  cab. 
if  there  were  any  to  be  had — I'm  afraid  there  aren't." 

"Don't  want  a  cab — can  walk.  Walk  faster,  that's  all. 
I'm  liable  to  go  to  pieces  pretty  soon — haven't  eaten  a 
mouthful  to-day — couldn't  look  at  it.  These  confounded 
nerves " 

There  was  no  doubt  but  his  nerves  were  confounded,  and 
badly,  at  that.  As  they  walked  the  few  squares  necessary 
to  get  to  Jane's  little  street,  Black  felt  his  companion  be 
coming  more  and  more  desperately  shaken  in  body  and 
mind.  Several  times  he  said  something  which  struck 
Black  as  all  but  irrational.  More  than  once  he  would 
have  wavered  far  away  from  the  straight  course  if  Black's 
arm  had  not  held  him  steady.  A  policeman  looked  sharply 
at  the  pair  as  they  passed  under  the  light  at  a  corner,  and 
Black  was  aware  that  but  one  inference  was  likely — one 
he  was  not  at  all  sure  was  untrue. 

The  shop  was  dark  when  they  reached  it,  and  Black 
rang  the  bell.  Just  as  a  light  appeared,  and  he  saw 
Jane  coming  through  from  her  rooms  in  the  rear,  the 
stranger  suddenly  sank  against  Black's  shoulder,  and  he 
was  forced  to  drop  the  bag  and  hold  him  supported  in 
both  arms.  So  when  Jane  opened  the  door,  it  was  to  this 
singular  and  somewhat  startling  apparition. 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Miss  Ray,"  said  Black's  quietly 


102  RED  AND  BLACK 

assured  voice.  "He's  only  faint,  I  think.  This  is — youf 
brother?  He's  been  ill,  and  wasn't  quite  strong  enough 
to  make  the  journey.  We'll  get  him  lying  down  as  fast 
as  we  can." 

"Oh,  Caryl"  Jane  was  out  of  the  door  in  an  instant, 
and  her  strong  young  arm  was  around  her  brother  from 
the  opposite  side.  "Can  you  walk,  dear?" 

He  hardly  had  to  walk,  so  nearly  did  they  carry  him. 
They  had  him  through  the  shop  and  into  the  little  living 
room  in  no  time  at  all,  and  Jane  had  run  for  a  stimulant. 
The  glass  she  held  to  his  lips  and  the  prostrate  position 
revived  him  quickly.  He  made  a  wry  face  at  the  tumbler 
she  had  set  down  upon  a  table. 

"Can't  you  do  better  than  that?"  he  questioned,  weakly. 
"For  God's  sake  give  me  the  real  thing — I  need  it.  I'm 
dying  for  it — yes,  dying  literally,  if  you  want  to  know." 

Jane  shook  her  head.  "No,  dear — I  haven't  any — and 
I'm  sure  you  don't  need  it.  I'll  make  you  some  strong 
tea.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you  came,  Cary!" 

The  young  man  seemed  to  try  to  smile — but  the  smile 
looked  more  like  tears.  He  held  up  a  shaking  hand. 

"Nerves — Jane — nerves.  I'm  all  in — I'm  a  wreck. 

I'm "  His  look  wavered  around  at  Black,  who  stood 

above  and  behind  him.  "We'll  excuse  you,  sir,"  he  said, 
with  an  effort  at  dignity.  "I'm  very  much  obliged  to 
you — and  now — please  go!" 

Jane  looked  up  at  Black  with  a  face  into  which  the  quick 
and  lovely  colour  poured  in  a  flood.  "My  brother  isn't 
himself,"  she  said  under  her  breath.  "  Do  forgive  him.  I'm 
so  grateful  to  you.  I  can  get  on  with  him  nicely  now." 

"I  can  surely  be  of  service  to  you  yet,  Miss  Ray," 
Black  said  with  decision.  "Your  brother  needs  care,  and 
I  can  help  you  make  him  comfortable." 


RATHER  A  BIG  THING  103 

She  shook  her  he?ad.  "I  can  do  all  he  needs,"  she  said, 
"and  it's  late.  I  can't " 

And  then  Gary  Ray  decided  things  for  himself  by  sitting 
up  and  pointing  with  a  shaking  finger  and  a  voice  of  fright 
toward  a  shadowy  corner.  "What's  that!"  he  whispered. 
"What's  that?  You  haven't  got  'em  here,  too,  have  you? 
I  thought  you  wouldn't  have  'em — not  you  /" 

There  was  nothing  in  the  corner.  Black  laid  young  Ray 
gently  but  firmly  down  upon  the  couch  again.  "No, 
you're  mistaken,"  he  said  quietly.  "We  haven't  got 
them  here — and  we're  not  going  to  have  them.  Trust  me 
for  that — I  know  all  about  it." 

Across  the  dark  head,  again  fallen  weakly  upon  the 
couch  pillow,  Black's  eyes  met  Jane's.  "Please  let  me 
stay  awhile?"  he  urged. 

She  knew  then  that  he  knew,  and  that  it  was  of  no  use 
to  try^to  hide  the  pitiful,  shameful  thing  from  him.  She 
nodded  and  turned  away,  and  he  saw  her  clench  one  hand 
tight  as  she  went  to  Gary's  bag  and  opened  it.  He  saw 
her  search  through  the  bag,  and  take  from  it  something 
which  he  did  not  see,  because  she  went  out  of  the  room 
with  it.  She  was  gone  some  time.  While  she  was  away, 
he  occupied  himself  with  keeping  Gary's  attention  from 
concentrating  on  that  corner  of  which  his  suspicions  be 
came  now  and  then  acute. 

When  she  returned,  her  brother  was  talking  fast  and 
disconnectedly. 

"I  haven't  slept — '\he  was  saying,  in  a  tone  that  was 
half  a  wail — "I  haven't  slept  for  a  week — haven't  had  a 
decent  night's  sleep  in  months.  I How  can  you  ex 
pect — I  tell  you  a  fellow  can't  keep  going — work's  all 
gone  to  pot- " 

Jane  came  close  to  him.     "You  shall  stay  here  and  rest 


io4  RED  AND  BLACK 

up,  Gary,"  she  said  gently,  with  her  hand  on  his  hot  head. 
"And  I'll  feed  you  wonderfully  and  get  you  strong  again. 
Could  you  take  just  a  little  something  now? — A  glass  of 
milk — a  tiny  sandwich — 

He  shook  his  head,  with  a  gesture  of  distaste.  "Don't 
say  food  to  me — don't  bring  any  in  my  sight.  There's 
just  one  thing  I  want — and  I  know  you  won't  give  it  to 
me.  Jane — "  he  caught  at  her  hand — "it  would  make  me 
sleep,  and  God  knows  I  need  that — I  shall  die  without  it. 
I — that  thing  in  the  corner — oh,  I  didn't  think  it  would 
track  me  here " 

"It  isn't  here.  Forget  it!"  Black  spoke  sternly. 
"You're  going  to  bed,  and  to  sleep — I'm  going  to  see  to 
that.  Miss  Ray — you'll  let  me  get  your  brother  into  his 
bed,  won't  you?  Once  there,  I'll  put  him  to  sleep — I 
know  I  can — and  that's  what  he  needs  more  than  any 
thing." 

"I'll  go  and  make  his  room  ready,"  said  Jane  Ray. 
She  had  to  yield.  She  knew  Cary  needed  a  man's 
hand,  a  man's  will.  Strong  and  resourceful  though  she 
was,  she  understood  that  at  this  pass  no  woman  could 
control  the  disordered  nerves  as  a  man  could.  She  could 
only  be  thankful  that  she  had  this  man  at  her  service  at 
this  hour,  though  perhaps  he  was  the  last  man  she  would 
have  picked  out,  or  have  been  willing  to  have  know  of  her 
unhappy  situation.  But  he  knew  it  now,  and  somehow, 
as  her  eyes  met  his,  she  could  not  be  quite  sorry,  after  all, 
that  it  was  he  who  was  to  help  her.  At  least,  whether  he 
could  deal  with  Cary  or  not,  she  could  be  absolutely  sure 
that  she  could  trust  him.  And  this  was  not  because  of  his 
profession — rather,  to  Jane,  it  was  in  spite  of  it. 

So,  presently,  Black  found  himself  putting  Cary  Ray 
to  bed — in  a  room  he  didn't  in  the  least  deserve  to  have, 


RATHER  A  BIG  THING  105 

For  it  was  unquestionably  Jane's  own.  Every  detail  of  its 
furnishing  told  him  that,  though  he  did  not  allow  himself 
to  study  it  much  from  this  point  of  view.  It  was  rather  a 
large  room,  and  as  simply  outfitted  as  could  be  imagined, 
and  yet  somehow  its  whole  aspect  gave  the  impression 
of  character  and  charm.  And  Black  had  never  in  his  life 
hated  to  see  a  man  installed  in  a  place  which  didn't  belong 
to  him  as  he  hated  to  see  Gary  Ray  made  comfortable 
in  this  exquisitely  chaste  room  of  Jane's.  Yet  he  couldn't 
very  well  protest.  He  knew  as  well  as  if  he  had  been  told 
that  it  was  the  only  room  of  adequate  size  and  comfort 
which  she  had  to  put  at  her  brother's  service,  and  that, 
since  he  was  ill  and  in  need,  she  wouldn't  dream  of  tucking 
him  up  on  a  couch  somewhere  as  a  substitute.  For  one 
bad  moment  Black  was  astonished  to  discover  that  he  was 
longing  to  pitch  this  dissipated  young  man  out  of  the 
house,  and  tell  his  sister  to  keep  her  white  sheets  clean 
from  his  contaminated  body. 

But  then,  of  course,  he  settled  to  his  task,  sternly  putting 
such  thoughts  away  from  him.  Having  got  Gary  stretched 
between  those  same  sheets,  the  lights  extinguished — except 
that  from  an  amber-shaded  reading  light  beside  the  bed — 
instead  of  taking  a  chair  he  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  the  bed 
in  a  friendly  sort  of  way,  and  remarked  in  the  most  matter- 
of-fact  tone  in  the  world — "This  reminds  me  of  a  night  I 

spent  once  down  in  Virginia "  And  from  that  he 

was  off,  by  degrees,  and  not  at  all  as  if  he  had  set  himself 
to  entertain  his  patient,  into  a  recital  that  presently  cap 
tured  Gary's  hitherto  fitful  attention  and  held  it  until 
the  sense  of  strangeness  in  the  whole  situation  had  some 
what  gone  by  for  the  invalid — if  not  for  the  nurse. 

The  night  was  not  spent,  however,  in  telling  stories. 
It  is  true  that  Gary  himself  told  one  or  two — and  lurid 


106  RED  AND  BLACK 

tales  they  were,  with  more  than  a  suspicion  of  nightmare 
in  them,  the  nightmare  of  drugs  or  of  a  disordered  brain. 
There  were  intervals — though  few  of  them — when  the 
young  man  sank  into  a  brief  sleep,  as  if  from  profound 
exhaustion,  but  he  invariably  awoke  with  a  start  and  a 
cry  to  a  condition  which  became,  as  the  hours  went  on, 
more  and  more  difficult  to  control.  Black  did  succeed 
in  controlling  it,  by  sheer  force  of  will;  he  seemed  to  have 
a  peculiar  power  to  do  this.  His  hand  upon  Gary's,  his 
voice  in  his  ear,  and  time  and  again  the  strained  nerves 
and  muscles  would  relax,  and  the  crisis  would  pass.  But 
more  than  once,  so  wild  was  the  almost  delirium  of  the 
sufferer,  that  it  took  all  Black's  physical  strength  to  keep 
command. 

Jane  was  there  only  a  part  of  the  time.  It  was  during 
the  periods  of  repose  and  half  slumber  that  she  would 
slip  noiselessly  into  the  room,  stand  watching  her  brother 
silently,  or  sit  down  upon  the  foot  of  the  bed  opposite 
Black,  to  look  at  the  thin  face  on  the  pillow  with  her  un 
happy  heart  in  her  eyes.  Black  had  never  seen  much  of 
Jane's  heart  before;  he  couldn't  help  seeing  something  of 
it  now.  It  was  beyond  his  power  to  refrain,  now  and  then, 
as  the  two  sat  in  the  hush  of  the  night,  so  strangely  thrown 
together  in  a  situation  which  neither  could  ever  have 
foreseen,  from  looking  across  at  Jane's  clear-cut  profile 
in  the  subdued  light,  and  studying  it  as  if  he  had  never 
seen  it  before.  His  pity  for  her  grew  as  the  hours  went 
by,  and  with  his  pity  a  tenderness  grew  also,  until,  quite 
suddenly,  he  was  startled  by  a  consciousness  that  he 
wanted  to  go  around  to  her  and  take  her  hands  in  his  and 
tell  her — that  he  would  stand  by  her  to  the  last  limit  of  his 
power. 

On  one  of  her  trips  into  the  room,  when  Gary  happened 


RATHER  A  BIG  THING  107 

to  be  quiet  for  a  little,  Jane  whispered  to  Black  that  she 
would  take  his  place  and  he  must  go  downstairs  and  eat 
the  lunch  she  had  prepared  for  him.  When  he  told  her 
that  he  didn't  need  it  she  only  pointed,  quite  imperiously, 
to  the  door,  and  he  obediently  left  the  room  and  went 
to  do  her  bidding.  It  was  as  he  was  finishing  the  delicious 
viands  he  found  on  the  table  in  the  room  below  that  his 
ear,  alert  for  any  signs  of  trouble  above,  caught  the  sin 
ister  sound  he  was  listening  for.  He  ran  up,  three  steps  at 
a  time,  to  find  Jane  struggling  in  the  grip  of  her  half- 
crazed  brother,  who  was  demanding  in  language  so  profane 
that  it  seemed  to  burn  the  air,  the  instant  production  of 
the  one  thing  in  the  world  he  wanted. 

"You've  got  it — you're  hiding  it — you  little  fool!  Do 

you  want  to  see  me  dead  before  morning — you " 

Then  came  the  oaths,  this  time  but  half  uttered  before  a 
strong,  smothering  hand  descended  upon  the  twisting 
mouth,  and  a  stern  voice  said  commandingly:  "Not  an 
other  word  like  that,  Ray,  or  I'll  choke  you  till  you're 
still ! "  At  the  same  moment  a  jerk  of  Black's  head  toward 
the  door  and  his  fiery  glance  at  Jane  told  her  that  he 
wanted  her  out  of  the  room  and  out  of  hearing  as  fast  as 
she  could  get  away. 

It  was  a  long  tussle  this  time,  but  it  was  over  at  last,  and 
once  more,  worn  out  by  the  violence  of  his  own  efforts, 
Gary  lay  quiet  for  a  little.  Confident  that  though  not 
asleep  he  would  not  at  once  find  strength  to  fight  again, 
Black  stole  out  of  the  room.  In  the  narrow  hall  outside 
he  found  Jane,  sitting  on  the  top  stair,  her  head  buried  in 
her  arms. 

Thus  far  he  had  known  Jane  only  as  a  finely  practical 
young  business  woman,  as  independent  as  she  was  capable. 
He  had  seen  that  adorable  head  of  hers,  with  its  smooth 


io8  RED  AND  BLACK 

crown  of  chestnut  hair,  always  held  high,  with  a  suggestion 
of  indomitable  courage.  Now — it  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  brought  low— incredibly  low.  She  had  long  before 
exchanged  the  dress  in  which  she  had  spent  the  day  in 
the  shop  for  a  plain  white  skirt  and  blouse  such  as  nurses 
wear,  and  in  this  costume  she  looked  much  younger  and 
more  girlish  than  in  the  more  conventional  dress.  Her 
white-shod  feet  were  crossed  as  a  girl  crosses  them;  and 
altogether,  in  the  dim  light  from  the  half-open  door,  she 
seemed  to  Black  more  like  Gary's  dependent  young  sister 
than  one  older  than  himself  to  whom  he  had  come  as  to  a 
refuge.  He  didn't  know,  as  yet,  that  after  all  it  was  Gary 
who  was  the  older. 

At  the  sound  of  the  light  footstep,  however,  Jane  in 
stantly  lifted  her  head,  and  then  rose  quickly  to  her  feet, 
and  he  saw  her  smile — an  undoubtedly  forced  little  smile, 
but  full  of  pluck. 

"You  must  be  desperately  tired,"  she  whispered.  "  But 
I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without  you  this 
night." 

"You  couldn't  have  done  without  me.  I  can't  tell  you 
how  glad  I  am  to  be  here.  And  I'm  not  half  as  tired  as 
you  are.  Won't  you  go  now  and  lie  down?  You  can't 
do  a  bit  of  good  by  staying  on  guard  here,  and  you'll  need 
your  strength  to-morrow.  This  isn't  going  to  be  a  short 
siege,  I'm  afraid." 

"I  know  it's  not.  But  I've  been  through  it  all  before. 
I  shall  call  Doctor  Burns  to-morrow.  I  tried  to  to-night, 
so  I  could  release  you,  but  he  was  away  for  the  night. 
And — I  didn't  want  to  call  anybody  else.  Nobody  else — 
here — knows,  and — I  can't  have  them  know." 

"Nobody  knows  you  have  a  brother?" 

"Oh,  they've  seen  Gary — but  only  when  he  was — him- 


RATHER  A  BIG  THING  109 

self.  He  is — Gary  is  a  genius,  Mr.  Black;  he  just  has — the 
defects  of  his  temperament.  He — I  can  show  you " 

And  then,  quite  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  the  tears 
leaped  into  her  eyes.  Like  a  small  boy,  abashed  at  having 
shown  emotion,  she  threw  back  her  head,  smiling  again, 
and  drawing  the  back  of  her  hand  across  the  tell-tale  eyes. 
"Oh,  I'm  ashamed  of  myself,"  she  breathed.  "Believe 
me,  I'm  not  so  weak  as  this  looks." 

"You're  not  in  the  least  weak.  And  it's  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  the  hour  when  things  take  hold.  See 

here "  And  he  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes. 

"Jane  Ray,"  he  said,  not  too  gently,  but  as  a  man  might 
say  it  to  a  man,  though  he  spoke  low,  on  account  of  that 
open  door — "I  want  you  to  know  that,  whatever  comes, 
I'll  see  you  through.  I  won't  add — 'if  you'll  let  me' — 
for  you're  going  to  let  me.  You  can't  help  it — after  to 
night."  And  he  held  out  his  hand.  "Shall  we  make  a 
pledge  of  it?"  he  added,  smiling  gravely. 

She  looked  straight  back  at  him.  "You  can't — see  me 
through,"  she  said.  "You — I've  no  claim  on  you.  You 
have  your  church " 

"I  have.  Is  that  a  reason  why  I  can't  stand  by  you? 
If  it  is — it's  not  the  church  I  gave  myself  to.  And — I 
think  you  need  another  brother.  I'm  sure  Gary  does." 
His  hand  was  waiting.  He  looked  down  at  it.  "Are 
you  going  to  make  me  take  it  back?"  he  asked.  "That 
would — feel  very  strange.  I  didn't  offer  it — to  take 
back." 

She  put  her  own  into  it  then.  He  gave  it  a  long,  strong 
clasp  and  let  it  go.  Without  looking  at  him  she  turned 
and  ran  downstairs,  and  he  went  back  into  the  room  where 
Gary  was  beginning  to  stir  restlessly  again. 

He  was  conscious,  in  every  fibre,  that  something  had 


no  RED  AND  BLACK 

happened  to  him.  He  had  not  had  the  least  idea,  when 
he  had  begun  his  vigils  that  night,  that  before  morn 
ing  he  should  be  thrilled  as  he  never  had  been  thrilled 
before,  by  a  simple  handclasp,  and  a  few  spoken  words, 
offering  only  what  he  had  offered  many  a  man  or  woman  in 
trouble  before  now,  his  sympathy  and  help.  But  some 
how — this  had  been  different.  He  was  acutely  aware  that 
the  wish  to  see  Jane  Ray  through  whatever  difficulties 
and  problems  might  lie  before  her  in  connection  with  this 
brother  of  hers  was  a  mighty  different  sort  of  wish  from 
any  that  he  had  experienced  before.  And  the  fact  that 
she  had  tacitly  accepted  his  help — proud  Jane — for  he 
knew  she  was  proud — gave  him  a  satisfaction  out  of  all 
proportion  to  any  ordinary  significance  attached  to  so 
obvious  and  natural  a  suggestion.  There  was  now  a 
bond  between  them — that  was  the  thing  that  took  hold 
of  him;  a  bond  which  made  possible — well,  what  did  it 
make  possible?  What  did  he  want  it  to  make  possible? 
He  didn't  try  to  go  into  that.  One  thing  was  sure:  he  had, 
by  an  accident,  come  into  her  life  in  a  way  he  had  never 
dreamed  of,  and  once  in — he  wanted  to  stay.  This  touch 
of  intimate  comradeship  had  been  something  new  in  his 
experience.  It  might  never  happen  again;  certainly  he 
could  not  continue  to  take  care  of  Gary  Ray  through 
nights  such  as  this  one  had  been.  Doubtless  Doctor 
Burns,  once  called,  would  take  care  of  that;  Black  knew 
that  under  the  proper  treatment  the  following  night  might 
be  one  of  comparative  calm.  But  he  could  come  to  see 
him  often;  could  cultivate  his  friendship — gain  as  much 
influence  over  him  as  possible.  And  if  others  found  out 
about  it,  criticized  him  for  giving  time  and  thought  to 
people  outside  his  parish — well — they  might.  Black's 
decision  on  this  head  was  one  which  brooked  no  interfer- 


"  You  can't  —  see  me  through, "  she  said,     "  You 
I've  no  claim  on  you  " 


RATHER  A  BIG  THING  in 

ence.  Where  he  could  help  he  would  help,  in  his  parish  or 
out  of  it.  ... 

It  was  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  that  he  fell  asleep. 
He  had  not  meant  to  go  to  sleep,  and  had  been  caught 
unawares.  For  an  hour  Gary  had  been  quiet.  Black, 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  had  found  a  new  way  to 
keep  hold  of  his  man — and  that  was  by  keeping  hold  of 
him  literally.  In  a  moment  of  desperation  he  had  seized 
the  thin,  restless  fingers  and  forced  them  to  remain 
still  in  his  own.  The  firm  contact  had  produced  a  remark 
able  effect.  After  a  little  Gary's  hand  had  laid  hold  of 
Black's  and  clung  to  it,  while  the  invalid  himself  had  sunk 
almost  immediately  away  into  something  more  resembling 
real  slumber  than  anything  in  the  past  night.  Finding 
this  expedient  so  successful  Black  had  allowed  it  to  con 
tinue,  for  each  time  he  tried  to  release  himself  Gary  took 
a  fresh  grip,  like  a  child  who  will  not  let  go  his  hold  upon 
his  mother,  even  in  unconsciousness.  Finally,  Black  had 
made  himself  as  comfortable  as  he  could  by  slipping  down 
upon  the  floor,  where  he  could  rest  his  head  upon  the  bed 
without  withdrawing  his  hand.  And  in  this  posture,  one 
eloquent  of  his  own  fatigue  from  the  long  vigil,  he  went 
soundly  to  sleep. 

So  when,  with  the  approach  of  daylight,  Jane  came  in 
to  tell  her  assistant  that  he  must  go  home  now,  while  the 
streets  were  empty  of  observant  eyes,  she  found  what  she 
had  not  expected.  She  stood  looking  at  the  two  figures 
the  one  stretched  so  comfortably  in  the  bed,  the  other 
propped  in  so  strained  an  attitude  outside  of  it.  As  she 
looked  something  very  womanly  and  beautiful  came  into 
her  eyes. 

"Is  it  possible — "  this  was  her  thought — "that  you 
have  done  this — for  me  ?  I  didn't  know  men  of  your 


ii2  RED  AND  BLACK 

profession  ever  did  things  like  this.  But  if  I  had  known 
any  of  them  ever  did,  I  should  have  known  it  would  be 
you!" 

He  looked  like  a  tall  and  fine-featured  boy  as  he  slept 
in  his  twisted  position,  did  Robert  McPherson  Black. 
He  had  taken  off  his  coat  while  he  wrestled  with  Gary, 
and  the  white  shirt-sleeves  rolled  to  the  elbows,  showing 
a  sinewy  forearm,  added  to  the  boyish  effect.  Suddenly 
Jane's  eyes  caught  sight  of  something  on  one  bare  arm 
which  made  her  stoop  lower,  and  then  flush  with  chagrin. 
It  was  the  unmistakable  mark  upon  the  fair  flesh  of  grip 
ping  fingers  with  nails  which  had  torn — already  turning 
dark,  as  such  deep  bruises  do.  It  was  a  little  thing 
enough — Jane  knew  already  how  her  new  friend  would 
make  light  of  it  if  she  mentioned  it — and  yet  somehow  it  was 
rather  a  big  thing,  too.  It  gave  emphasis  to  the  service 
he  had  done  her;  how  could  she  have  dealt,  alone,  with 
wild  brutality  like  that? 

Then,  as  she  looked,  Gary  roused,  turned,  opened  his 
eyes,  withdrew  his  hand  with  a  jerk,  and  Black  woke  also. 
And  Gary  was  sane  again,  and  very  weak,  and  spoke 
querulously: 

"What  the  devil "  he  began.  "Who  are  you — and 

what  are  you  doing  here?"  Then,  to  Jane, — "Is  this  a 
cheap  lodging  house,  and  do  you  take  in  every  vagrant 
that  comes  along?" 

"I  took  you  in,  dear,"  said  Jane,  quietly.  "And  Mr. 
Black  has  stayed  by  you  all  night.  He  must  be  very 
tired." 

Black  laughed.  "I've  had  quite  a  sleep,  anyhow,"  he 
said,  attempting  with  considerable  difficulty  to  get  upon 
his  feet.  "Certain  areas  seem  to  have  been  more  asleep 
than  others,  though.  My  arm — "and  he  began  to  pinch 


RATHER  A  BIG  THING  113 

and  pound  it — "looks  to  be  all  here,  but  it  feels  rather  ab 
sent."  It  was  absent  indeed,  and  hanging  by  his  side,  quite 
numb. 

Gary's  eyes  widened.  "You  don't  mean — why,  you're  the 
chap  that — that "  His  weak  voice  took  on  a  tension. 

"Never  mind  about  the  identification.  I'm  glad  you're 
feeling  better  this  morning." 

"I  don't  feel  better.  I  feel  like  the  devil.  But  I — I'm 
certainly  obliged  to  you.  I — have  you  been  here  all — 
night?" 

"  "Of  course.  Oh,  thank  you,  Miss  Ray — it'll  come  back 
in  a  minute,"  for  Jane  had  come  up  and  was  applying  a 
vigorous  massage  with  her  own  hands  to  the  inert  arm. 

"Well,  I'll  be "  but  Gary  left  the  exclamation  un 
finished,  and  began  another.  "  I  say — I'm  not  worth  it ! "  he 
groaned,  and  buried  his  head  in  the  crumpled  white  pillow. 

Downstairs,  presently,  Black,  ready  to  go,  spoke  authori 
tatively.  "Please  promise  me  you  will  call  the  Doctor 
early." 

"I  will,"  Jane  agreed.  "He  has  seen  Gary  before.  If 
I  could  only  have  had  him  last  night,  and  spared  you — 

I  shouldn't  feel  so  guilty  this  morning.     Why "  and 

at  this  moment,  for  the  first  time,  a  recognition  came  to 
her.  It  left  her  a  little  stunned.  "Mr.  Black,"  she  said, 
unhappily,  "  I'm  just  realizing  what  day  this  is.  It's " 

"Yes,  it's  Sunday,"  admitted  Black,  smiling,  "And 
none  the  worse  for  that,  is  it?" 

"But — you  have  to  preach — and  you've  been  up  all 
night!" 

"I  suppose  it's  because  I'm  a  Scot,  but — I've  seldom 
left  my  sermons  till  Saturday  and  Sunday  to  prepare. 
I'm  all  armed  and  equipped,  Miss  Ray — you've  nothing 
to  regret." 


ii4  RED  AND  BLACK 

"But  you  haven't  slept — you're  frightfully  tired " 

"Do  I  look  as  haggard  as  that?  If  I  do,  it's  only  be 
cause  I  need  a  clean  shave.  Come — if  you  weren't  tied 
up  I'd  challenge  you  to  go  to  church  and  see  if  I  can't  hit 
from  the  shoulder,  in  spite  of  my  lusty  right  arm's  getting 
numb  for  ten  minutes  in  your  service.  Good-by,  for  the 
present,  Miss  Ray.  I  shall  call  you  up,  later,  to  learn  if 
the  Doctor's  been  here.  And  I  shall — make  friends  with 
your  brother  the  very  best  I  know  how." 

He  looked  straight  down  into  her  uplifted  eyes  as  he 
shook  hands — with  no  lingering  or  extra  pressure  this 
time,  just  the  hard,  comradely  grasp  it  was  his  nature  to 
give.  Then  he  was  gone,  out  into  the  early  morning  twi 
light,  without  a  glance  to  right  or  left  to  see  if  any  saw  him 

go- 

An  hour  later  Red  came  in,  looked  the  situation  over, 
and  commented  brusquely: 

"You  must  have  had  a — an  Inferno — of  a  night  with 
him." 

"I  didn't — because  I  wasn't  alone.  Mr.  Black  stayed 
all  night  and  took  care  of  him." 

"What?"  The  quick  question  spoke  incredulity.  Red 
stared  at  her. 

"He  brought  Gary  from  the  station,  and  then  stayed — 
because — he  thought  he  was  needed.  I  don't  know  quite 
what  I  should  have  done  without  him." 

Red  whistled.  "You  bet  you  don't.  Well,  well — the 
minister  certainly  is  game.  Didn't  worry  about  what 
some  old  lady  of  the  parish  might  think,  eh?" 

Jane  drew  herself  up.  "You  don't  mean  that,  Doctor 
Burns." 

He  laughed.  "No,  I  don't  mean  that.  There  was 
every  reason  why  he  should  ignore  any  such  possibility — I 


RATHER  A  BIG  THING  115 

understand  the  situation  exactly.  But  I  think  it  was 
rather  game  of  him,  just  the  same.  A  case  like  Gary's 
isn't  exactly  a  joke  to  take  care  of,  and  the  average  out 
sider  gets  out  from  under — and  sends  flowers  to  show  his 
sympathy — or  a  bottle  of  whisky,  according  to  his  lights. 
Well — to  go  back  to  this  precious  brother  of  yours " 

"That  is  the  right  adjective,"  said  Jane  Ray,  steadily. 
"You  know  perfectly  well,  Doctor  Burns,  he's  all  I  have." 

"Yes,  I  know."  He  returned  the  look.  "And  I'll  do 
my  best  to  put  him  on  his  feet  again.  But  he  needs  some 
thing  neither  you  nor  I  can  give  him.  I'm  inclined  to 
think — and  this  is  something  of  a  concession  for  me  to 
make,  Jane — I'm  inclined  to  think  Robert  Black  could. 
Gary's  a  dreamer — and  a  weak  one.  Bob  Black's  a 
dreamer — but  a  strong  one.  If  he  could  get  Gary  to — 

well — to  dream  the  right  sort  of  dream You  see,  it's  a 

case  where  a  knowledge  of  psychology  might  take  a  hand 
where  a  knowledge  of  pathology  falls  down.  Do  you  get 
me?" 

"I  think  I  do.  You  want  me  to — encourage  an  ac 
quaintance  between  them?" 

"That's  exactly  what  I  mean.  I  know  you're  no  church 
goer,  my  dear — and  I  admit  I've  never  been  much  of  a  one 
myself.  I  feel  a  bit  differently  of  late — perhaps  you  can 
guess  why.  If  you  could  get  Gary  under  the  influence 
of  this  man  Black — a  friendship  between  them  might 
do  the  trick.  Anyhow,  don't  lay  any  stones  in  the  way 
out  of  fear  of  putting  yourself  under  obligations  to 
Black.  I've  discovered  that  he's  happiest  when  he's 
doing  some  absolutely  impossible  thing  for  somebody 
to  whom  he's  under  no  obligation  to  do  it.  People  take 
advantage  of  a  disposition  like  that — but  he  can't  exactly 
be  trampled  on,  either — so  you're  pretty  safe.  Now — to 


u6  RED  AND  BLACK 

come  down  to  brass  tacks "  And  he  fell  to  giving  her 

precise  directions  as  to'the  line  of  treatment  he  wished  car 
ried  out. 

"He'll  sleep  to-night,"  he  prophesied.  "He's  got  to. 
I'll  come  around  this  evening  and  put  him  under  for  you. 
Good-bye  for  now,  and  remember  I'm  on  the  job." 

She  was  feeling,  as  she  went  back  to  her  difficult  task, 
more  hopeful  about  Gary  than  she  had  ever  felt  hitherto. 
Well  she  might.  She  had  now  enlisted  in  his  behalf  the 
whole  power  of  a  reconstructing  force  of  which  until  now 
she  had  hardly  recognized  the  existence. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
SPENDTHRIFTS 

R3BERT  BLACK  was  dressing  for  the  day.  This 
procedure,  simple  and  commonplace  enough  in  the 
schedule  of  the  ordinary  man,  was  for  him  usually  a  some 
what  complicated  process.  The  reason  for  this  was  that 
he  was  apt  to  be,  as  to-day,  attempting  at  the  same  time 
to  finish  the  reading  from  some  left-over  chapter  of  the 
book  he  had  been  devouring  the  last  thing  before  he  went 
to  bed.  Of  course  he  could  neither  take  his  cold  tub  nor 
shave  his  always  darkening  chin  while  perusing  the  latest 
addition  to  his  rapidly  growing  library.  But  the  moment 
these  activities  were  over,  he  could  and  did  don  his  attire 
for  the  day  while  engaged  in  scanning  the  printed  page 
propped  upon  the  chest  of  drawers  before  him.  The  result 
of  this  economy  of  time  was  that  he  seldom  actually  heard 
the  bell  ring  to  summon  him  to  his  breakfast,  and  was 
accustomed  to  appear  in  the  dining-room  doorway,  book 
in  one  hand,  morning  paper  just  gathered  in  from  the 
doorstep  in  the  other,  and  to  find  there  Mrs.  Hodder 
awaiting  him  in  a  grieved  silence.  He  would  then  offer 
her  a  smiling  apology,  upon  which  she  would  shake  her 
head  over  the  incomprehensible  ways  of  men  who  thought 
more  of  the  feeding  of  brains  than  body,  and  proceed  de 
votedly  to  serve  him  with  food  kept  hot  for  his  coming. 

On  this  particular  morning  Black,  strolling  in  as  usual, 
book  under  his   arm,   newspaper  stretched   before  him, 

117 


n8  RED  AND  BLACK 

eagerly  snatching  at  the  headlines  always  big  with  war 
news  these  days,  paused  to  finish  a  long  paragraph,  at  the 
same  time  saying  cheerfully,  "Good  morning,  Mrs.  Hod- 
der.  Late  again,  am  I?  Sorry!  Afraid  I'm  hopeless. 
But — listen  to  this:"  The  paragraph  finished,  he 
looked  up,  emphatic  comment  on  his  lips.  It  died  there 
even  as  it  was  born,  for  the  room  was  empty,  the  table 
unset,  the  curtains  at  the  windows  undrawn.  In  brief,  no 
breakfast  was  awaiting  the  minister  this  morning,  and 
there  was  no  possible  explanation  visible. 

Black  may  have  been  an  incorrigible  student;  he  was 
also  unquestionably  a  man  of  action.  He  threw  book  and 
paper  upon  the  table  and  ascended  the  back  stairs  in  long 
leaps.  Had  Mrs.  Hodder  overslept?  It  was  inconceiva 
ble.  The  only  other  logical  supposition  then  was  that 
she  was  ill.  If  she  were  ill — and  alone — of  course  he 
couldn't  get  to  her  too  soon — hence  the  leaps.  She  must 
be  very  ill  indeed  to  keep  her  from  preparing  the  break 
fast  which,  he  had  discovered,  was  to  her,  in  the  manse, 
nothing  less  than  a  rite. 

He  knocked  upon  her  door.  An  unhappy  voice  in 
stantly  replied:  "Open  the  door — just  a  crack — Mr. 
Black,  and  I'll  tell  you " 

He  opened  the  door  the  required  crack,  and  the  ex 
planation  issued,  in  unmistakable  accents  of  suffering: 

"I  tried  my  best  to  get  down,  I  did  indeed,  Mr.  Black. 
But  the  truth  is  I  can't  move.  No — no — "  at  an  exclama 
tion  from  outside  the  door  denoting  sympathy  and  alarm — 
"I  haven't  got  a  stroke  nor  anything  like  that.  It's  noth 
ing  more  nor  less  than  the  lumbago,  and  I'm  humiliated  to 
death  to  think  I  got  such  a  thing.  I'm  subject  to  it,  and 
that's  the  truth,  and  I  never  know  when  it'll  ketch  me, 
but  I  haven't  had  a  touch  of  it  since  I've  been  with  you. 


SPENDTHRIFTS, 

JL  begun  to  think  there  was  something  about  the  manse — 
and  doing  for  a  minister,  maybe — that  kept  it  away.  But 
— it's  caught  me  good  this  time,  and  I  don't  know  what 
you'll  do  for  your  breakfast.  I  think  maybe  you'd  better 
go  over  to  the " 

But  here  Black  interrupted  her.  "I'll  get  my  own 
breakfast,"  he  announced  firmly,  "and  yours,  too.  Stay 
perfectly  quiet  till  I  bring  you  up  a  tray.  After  that  we'll 
have  the  doctor  in  to  see  you " 

He  was  interrupted  in  his  turn.  "I  don't  want  any 
doctor.  Doctors  can't  do  a  thing  for  lumbago — except 
tell  you  you  got  chilled  or  something,  and  to  keep  still 
and  rest  up.  When  the  pain  goes  it  goes,  and  you  can't 
tell  when.  Maybe  'long  about  noon  I  can  get  downstairs. 
I  don't  want  any  breakfast,  and  if  you'll  go  over  to  the " 

"I'm  not  going  to  the  hotel,  Mrs.  Hodder — and  you're 
not  going  without  your  breakfast.  I  will " 

"You  can't  cook!" 

"I  can  cook  enough  to  keep  us  from  starving.  Now, 
lie  still  and  I'll " 


"You  don't  know  where  a  thing  is " 

"I  can  find  out." 

A  groan  issued  from  the  hidden  bed.  "I  never  knew 
a  man  that  could.  Listen  here,  Mr.  Black.  Now  the 
coffee's  in  the  closet  up  above  the  kitchen  table,  the  third 
door  from  the  right.  It's  in  the  same  can  it  comes  in, 
but  it  ain't  ground,  and  the  grinder's  in  the  pantry, 
fastened  to  the  wall.  There  may  be  some  basins  piled  in 
front  of  it — I  don't  remember — likely  they  is.  The 
cream's  in  the  ice-chest — and  don't  skim  the  first  pan  you 
come  to,  because  that's  night's  milk.  You  want  to  skim 
yesterday  morning's  pan,  and  that's  pushed  back  farthe*. 
Now  the  bread-box " 


120  RED  AND  BLACK 

"I  know  where  that  is — " 

"The  oatmeal's  in  the  double  boiler — all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  set  it  front  of  the  stove,  and  make  sure  the  water 
ain't  all  boiled  away.  Lucky  I  always  cook  that  the  night 
before.  I  suppose  you  don't  know  how  to  light  the  gas 
in  the  broiler,  so  you  can  toast  your  bread.  It's  the  third 
knob  to  the  left " 

Black  got  away  at  last,  further  instructions  following 
him  by  the  air  line,  in  spite  of  his  shouted  assurance  that 
he  could  find  everything  and  do  everything,  and  that  his 
housekeeper  should  rest  comfortably  and  stop  worrying. 
It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  he  was  worrying  a 
bit  himself,  for  his  first  thought  that  he  would  make  a 
breakfast  of  oatmeal — since  that  was  already  cooked — and 
let  it  go  at  that,  was  instantly  followed  by  the  recollection 
that  Mrs.  Hodder  didn't  eat  oatmeal  herself,  but  relied 
principally  upon  the  toast  and  coffee  and  boiled  egg  he 
himself  was  accustomed  to  take  with  her.  Unquestionably 
she  must  have  these,  and  it  was  up  to  him  to  prepare 
them. 

He  removed  his  coat,  rolled  up  his  shirt-sleeves,  and 
went  at  it.  He  lighted  the  gas  and  moved  the  double 
boiler  forward,  thus  assuring  himself  of  one  staple  article 
upon  the  breakfast  schedule.  He  then  began  a  search  for 
the  coffee,  congratulating  himself  upon  remembering  that 
the  filtered  beverage  with  which  he  was  accustomed  to  be 
served  took  time  to  make.  Thus  began  the  tragic  hour 
which  followed.  .  .  . 

Three  quarters  of  an  hour  later  young  Tom  Lockwood 
came  to  the  manse  door  and  rang  the  bell.  Black  paused, 
halfway  between  stove  and  pantry,  then  turned  back 
to  the  stove,  because  his  sense  of  smell  told  him  unmis 
takably  that  something  fatally  wrong  was  occurring  there. 


SPENDTHRIFTS  121 

He  tried  to  diagnose  the  case  in  a  hurry,  failed,  and  hast 
ened  unwillingly  through  the  house  to  the  door,  wondering 
just  how  flushed  and  upset  he  looked.  He  felt  both  to  an 
extreme  degree.  Absolutely  nothing  seemed  to  be  going 
right  with  that  breakfast. 

Tom  came  in,  in  his  customary  breezy  way.  "Morning! 
Thought  I'd  drop  in  and  see  if  you  didn't  want  to  run 
up  on  the  hills  to-day,  same  as  you  said  a  while  back, 
when  we  both  had  a  morning  to  spare."  He  paused, 
surveying  his  host  with  an  observant  eye.  "  Any  thing 
the  matter,  Mr.  Black?  Haven't  had — bad  news,  or 
anything  ?" 

Black  smiled.  "Do  I  look  as  despondent  as  that?  No, 
no — everything's  all  right,  thank  you.  But  I'm  afraid 
I  can't  get  away  this  morning  to  go  with  you.  My  house 
keeper's  not  very  well.  I " 

"Look  here."  Tom  eyed  a  black  mark  on  the  minister's 
forehead,  and  noted  the  rolled-up  shirt-sleeves.  "You're 
not — trying  to  get  breakfast,  are  you?  I  say — I'll  bet 
that's  what  you're  doing.  If  you  are,  let  me  help.  I  can 
make  dandy  coffee."  Suddenly  he  sniffed  the  air.  "Some 
thing's  burning!" 

The  two  ran  back  to  the  kitchen,  making  a  race  of  it. 
Black  won,  his  nostrils  full  now  of  a  metallic  odour.  He 
dashed  up  to  the  stove  where  a  double-boiler  was  pro 
testing  that  its  lower  section  had  long  since  boiled  dry  and 
was  being  ruined,  and  hastily  removed  it.  He  gazed  at  it 
ruefully. 

"  She  told  me  to  look  out  for  it,"  he  admitted. 

"Some  little  cook,  you  are!"  Tom,  hands  in  pockets, 
surveyed  a  saucepan  in  which  two  eggs  were  boiling  vio 
lently,  fragments  of  white  issuing  from  cracked  shells. 
" Busted  'em  when  you  put  'em  in,  didn't  you?  How 


122  RED  AND  BLACK 

long  have  they  been  at  it — or  isn't  there  any  time  limit  to 
the  way  you  like  your  eggs  ? " 

Black  snatched  the  saucepan  off.  "I  think  I  must  have 
put  them  on  some  twenty  minutes  ago.  You  see,  the 
toast  distracted  my  mind."  He  set  down  the  saucepan 
and  hurriedly  wrenched  open  the  door  of  the  broiler. 
"Oh — thunder!"  he  exploded.  Blackened  ruins  were  all 
that  met  the  eye. 

Tom  leaned  against  a  table,  exploding  joyously.  "Want 
me  to  say  it  for  you?"  he  offered. 

"Thanks."  Black's  jaw  was  now  set  grimly.  "I 
wonder  if  there's  any  fool  thing  I  haven't  done — or  failed 
to  do.  Anyhow,  the  coffee " 

Tom  got  ahead  of  him  at  that,  lifted  the  pot,  turned  up 
the  lid,  estimated  the  contents  of  the  upper  container,  and 
shook  his  head.  "The  brew  will  be  somewhat  pale,  me- 
thinks,"  was  his  comment.  "I  say,  Mr.  Black,  you're 
no  camper,  are  you?" 

"Never  had  the  chance.  And  never  spent  an  hour 
learning  to  cook.  I'm  awfully  humiliated,  but  that  doesn't 
help  it  any.  It  did  seem  simple — to  boil  an  egg  and  make 
a  slice  of  toast." 

"It  isn't — it's  darned  complicated.  Oatmeal  and  coffee 
make  the  scheme  horribly  intricate,  too.  I  know  all  about 
it.  I've  leaped  around  between  two  camp  fires  and  frizzled 
my  bacon  to  death  while  I  rescued  my  coffee,  and  knocked 
over  my  coffee  pot  while  I  fished  up  the  little  scraps  of  bacon 
from  the  bottom  of  the  frying-pan.  Here — I'll  fix  the 
coffee.  Start  some  more  toast,  and  we'll  hash  up  that 
hard-boiled-egg  effect  to  lay  on  top,  and  pretend  we  meant 
it  that  way  from  the  first.  Along  towards  noon  we'll  have 
that  tray  ready  for  the  lady  upstairs." 

"Tom,  you're  a  man  and  a  brother.     But  I'm  going  to 


SPENDTHRIFTS  123 

send  you  off  and  see  this  thing  through  alone  if  it  takes  all 
day."  And  Black  pushed  him  gently  but  firmly  toward 
the  door.  Tom,  laughing,  found  it  no  use  to  resist.  He 
paused  to  lay  an  appraising  hand  on  the  bare  forearm 
which  was  showing  such  unexpected  strength. 

"Some  muscle,  I'll  say.  Nobody'd  guess  it  under  that 
clerical  coat-sleeve.  Look  here — you'll  come  over  to 
dinner  to-night,  and  get  a  square  meal  ?  Mother'li  be " 

"Tom,  if  you  so  much  as  mention  the  situation  here  I'll 
make  you  pay  dearly — see  if  I  don't!  We're  all  right. 
I'll  never  make  these  same  mistakes  again.  If  Mrs. 
Hodder  isn't  down  by  night  I'll  buy  a  tin  of  baked  beans. 
Promise  you  won't  give  me  away." 

"Oh,  all  right,  all  right.  You  can  trust  me.  But  I 
don't  see  why " 

"  I  do — and  that's  enough.     Good-bye,  Tom." 

They  went  through  the  hall  arm  in  arm,  parted  at  the 
door,  and  Tom  ran  back  to  his  car.  "You're  some  Scotch 
man,  Robert  Black,"  he  said  to  himself.  "But  I  wish 
you'd  let  me  make  that  coffee." 

It  was  nine-thirty  by  the  kitchen  clock  when  Mrs. 
Hodder  received  her  breakfast  tray.  She  had  managed, 
smotheredly  groaning,  to  don  a  wrapper,  and  to  comb  her 
iron-gray  locks,  so  that  according  to  her  ideas  of  propriety 
she  might  decently  admit  her  employer  to  her  rigidly  neat 
apartment. 

"I'm  terrible  sorry  to  make  you  all  this  trouble,  Mr. 
Black,"  she  said.  "My,  it's  wonderful  how  you've  done 
all  this."  And  she  eyed  the  little  tray  with  its  cup  of 
steaming  coffee,  now  a  deep  black  in  hue,  its -two  slices  of 
curling  but  unburned  toast,  and  its  opened  egg. 

"I  think  it's  rather  wonderful  myself,"  the  minister 
conceded.  Moisture  stood  upon  his  brow;  his  right  wrist 


i24  RED  AND  BLACK 

showed  a  red  mark  as  of  a  burn;  but  his  look  was  trium 
phant.  "I  hope  you'll  enjoy  it.  And  I've  asked  Doctor 
Burns  to  look  in,  on  his  rounds,  and  fix  you  up.  If  he  says 
you  should  have  a  nurse  we'll  have  one." 

"I  don't  want  the  doctor,  and  I  won't  have  a  nurse — 
for  the  lumbago;  I'd  feel  like  a  fool.  All  that  worries  me 
is  how  you'll  manage  till  I  can  get  round.  You  ain't  used 
to  doin'  for  yourself." 

"I've  done  for  myself  in  most  ways  ever  since  I  came 
over  from  Scotland,  a  boy  of  sixteen.  Come,  eat  your 
egg,  Mrs.  Hodder.  I'll  be  back  for  the  tray  soon.  Let 
me  put  another  pillow  behind  your  back " 

He  would  wait  on  her,  she  couldn't  help  it,  and  it  must 
be  admitted  she  rather  enjoyed  it,  in  spite  of  the  pain  that 
caught  her  afresh  with  every  smallest  move.  It  was  like 
having  a  nice  son  to  look  after  her,  she  thought.  She 
submitted  to  his  edict  that  she  was  to  trust  him  to  run  the 
house  in  her  absence  from  the  kitchen,  and  if  she  had  her 
doubts  as  to  how  he  would  accomplish  this,  they  gave  way 
before  the  decision  in  his  tone. 

It  was  three  days  after  this  that  Red,  coming  in  at  five 
in  the  afternoon,  to  take  a  look  at  Mrs.  Hodder,  whom  he 
had  been  obliged  to  neglect  since  his  first  visit  in  a  pressure 
of  work  for  sicker  patients,  discovered  Black  in  the  midst 
of  his  new  activities.  The  minister  was  hurriedly  sweep 
ing  and  dusting  his  study,  having  rushed  home  from  a 
round  of  calls  at  the  recollection  that  a  committee  meeting, 
which  included  three  women,  was  to  be  held  there  that 
evening.  Mrs.  Hodder  was  accustomed  to  keep  the  room 
in  careful  order;  he  himself  had  been  throwing  things 
about  it  for  three  days  now, — and  undusted  black  walnut 
desks  and  other  dark  furniture  certainly  do  show  neglect 
in  a  fashion  peculiarly  unreserved. 


SPENDTHRIFTS  125 

"Well,  well!"  Red  paused  in  the  study  door.  "I 
knew  you  were  a  man  of  action,  but  I  didn't  know  it  ex 
tended  this  far.  Can't  anybody  be  found  to  bridge  the 
chasm?" 

"I  don't  want  anybody,  thanks.  A  little  exercise  won't 
hurt  me.  Will  you  stop  a  minute  ?  I'll  dust  that  leather 
chair  for  you." 

To  his  surprise  Red  moved  over  to  the  chair  and  sat 
down  on  the  arm  of  it.  "You  look  a  trifle  weary,"  he 
observed. 

"That's  the  dirt  on  my  face.  I  swept  the  room  with 
violence — it  needed  it.  Most  of  the  dust  settled  on  me." 

"They  should  equip  the  manse  with  a  vacuum  cleaner. 
Been  rather  busy  to-day?" 

"Somewhat.  Have  you?"  Black's  glance  said  that  in 
both  cases  the  fact  went  without  saying. 

"I  heard  of  you  in  a  place  or  two — been  on  your  trail 
more  or  less  all  day,  as  it  happens." 

"I  presume  so.  This  is  my  day  for  calling  at  the 
hospital.  g>  It  struck  me  I  was  on  your  trail,  Doctor." 

"A  sort  of  vicious  circle?  If  you  feel  as  vicious  as  I  do 
after  it,  you're  ready  for  anything.  What  do  you  say  to  a 
camp  supper  in  the  woods  to-night — instead  of  tinned 
beans?" 

There  were  two  items  in  this  speech  which  arrested 
Black's  attention.  He  stopped  dusting.  "What  do  you 
know  about  tinned  beans?"  he  inquired,  suspiciously. 

"Tom  has  no  use  for  'em,"  was  the  innocent  reply. 
"Never  mind — he  didn't  tell  anybody  but  me.  I've  been 
having  things  rather  thick  myself  lately,  and  just  now — 
well,  I  feel  like  taking  to  the  tall  timber.  Want  to  go  with 
me?  The  woods  are  rather  nice — on  a  dry  winter  night 
like  this." 


126  RED  AND  BLACK 

"You  don't  mean  it  literally — a  camp  supper?** 

"Good  Lord,  man,  where  were  you  brought  up?  I 
thought  you  were  a  country  boy?" 

"I  am — of  the  South  country — Scotland  first — the 
States  second.  But  I  never  went  camping  in  my  life.  I 
never  had  time.'* 

"Till  this  week?'*  Red's  eyes  twinkled  enjoyingly. 
"You  can  make  coffee  by  now,  I'll  wager.  But  you  can't 
touch  me  at  making  it.  Put  on  your  collar  and  come  along. 
I'll  treat  you  to  a  new  experience,  and  by  the  look  of  you, 
you  need  it.  So  do  I — we'll  clear  out  together." 

"I  can't  leave  Mrs.  Hodder  without  her  supper — and 
I  have  a  committee  meeting  at  eight.  I'm  mighty  sorry, 
Doctor " 

"You  needn't  be.  I'll  fix  the  whole  thing,  and  have 
you  back  in  time  for  the  bunch.  Come — take  orders  from 
me,  for  once." 

Of  course  Black  never  had  wanted  to  do  anything  in  his 
life  as  he  wanted  to  accept  this  extraordinary  and  most 
unprecedented  invitation  from  the  red-headed  doctor 
whom  he  could  not  yet  call  his  friend.  The  high  barriers 
were  down  between  them,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that. 
Red  no  longer  avoided  the  minister;  he  came  to  church 
now  and  then;  the  two  met  here  and  there  with  entire 
friendliness,  and  had  more  than  once  consulted  each  other 
on  matters  of  mutual  interest.  But  Red,  except  as  he  had 
taken  Black  into  his  car  when  passing  him  upon  the  road, 
had  never  directly  sought  him  out  on  what  looked  like  a 
basis  of  real  pleasure  in  his  society.  And  now,  when  Red, 
running  upstairs  to  see  Mrs.  Hodder,  and  coming  down 
to  announce  that  all  she  wanted  for  supper  was  a  little  tea 
and  bread  and  butter,  and  that  it  was  up  to  Black  to  fix 
up  a  tray  in  a  hurry  and  be  ready  when  he,  Red,  should 


SPENDTHRIFTS  127 

get  back — in  about  fifteen  minutes — well,  Black  was 
pretty  glad  to  give  in,  cast  his  broom  and  dust  cloth  into 
the  kitchen  closet,  wash  his  hands,  and  put  a  little  water 
to  boil  in  the  bottom  of  the  kettle  over  a  gas  flame  turned 
up  so  high  that  it  was  warranted  to  have  the  water  bub 
bling  in  a  jiffy! 

"Now,  you  just  go  along  with  the  doctor  and  rest  up," 
commanded  Mrs.  Hodder,  when  the  tray  appeared.  "He 
told  me  he  was  going  to  take  you  out  to  dinner — and  I 
guess  you  need  it — living  on  canned  stuff,  so.  He  thinks 
I  can  get  down  to-morrow,  and  I  certainly  do  hope  so. 
You  look  about  beat  out — and  no  wonder." 

With  this  cordial  send-off  Black  ran  downstairs  like  a 
boy  let  out  of  school,  his  weariness  already  lessening  under 
the  stimulus  of  the  coming  adventure.  Tired?  Just 
to  amuse  himself,  late  last  evening,  he  had  made  a  list  of 
the  things  he  had  done,  the  people  he  had  seen,  the  letters 
he  had  written,  the  telephone  calls  he  had  answered — and 
all  the  rest  of  it.  It  had  been  a  formidable  list.  And 
living  on  tinned  beans,  and  crackers  and  cheese,  had  not 

been Oh,  well — what  did  it  matter,  so  he  had  got  his 

work  done,  slighted  nothing  and  nobody — though  he  could 
be  by  no  means  sure  of  that!  What  minister  ever  could  ? 

He  dressed  as  Red  had  ordered — heavy  shoes,  sweater 
under  his  overcoat,  cap  instead  of  hat — he  felt  indeed  like 
a  boy  off  on  a  lark,  only  that  his  busy,  self-supporting  life 
had  not  furnished  him  with  many  comparisons  in  the  way 
of  larks.  As  he  ran  down  the  manse  steps  he  realized 
that  it  was  a  perfect  winter  night.  There  had  been  little 
snow  of  late;  the  air  was  dry  and  not  too  cold;  the  stars 
were  out.  And  he  was  going  camping  in  *he  woods  with 
Red  Pepper  Burns — and  it  was  not  up  to  him  to  do  the 
cooking! 


128  RED  AND  BLACK 

The  car  slid  up  to  the  curb,  a  big  basket  in  the  place 
where  Black  was  to  put  his  feet;  he  had  to  straddle  it. 
There  was  not  too  much  time  to  spare — only  a  little  over 
two  hours.  The  car  leaped  away  down  the  street,  and 
in  no  time  was  off  over  the  macadamized  road  on  which 
speed  could  be  made.  And  then,  a  mile  away  from  that 
road,  with  rough  going  for  that  mile — but  who  cared? — 
they  came  to  a  clump  of  woods  lying  on  a  hillside,  and  the 
two  were  out  and  scrambling  up  it  in  the  dark,  Red  evi 
dently  following  a  trail  with  accuracy,  for  Black  found  no 
difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  him. 

Upon  the  top  of  the  hill  was  a  bare,  stony  space,  shel 
tered  from  the  sides  but  open  to  the  stars.  And  here,  in 
astonishingly  little  time,  were  made  two  leaping  fires  the 
basis  for  which  had  been  a  small  basket  of  materials 
brought  in  the  car,  upon  which  hot  foundation  the  gathered 
sticks  of  the  wood  had  no  choice  but  to  burn.  Rustling 
fuel  with  energy,  Black  soon  found  himself  ready  to  dis 
card  his  overcoat,  and  by  the  time  the  thick  steak  Red 
was  manipulating  had  reached  its  rich  perfection,  as  only 
that  master  of  camp  cookery  could  make  it,  Black  was 
thinking  that,  big  as  it  was,  he  could  devour  the  whole  of 
it  himself. 

Coffee — what  coffee!  Had  he  ever  known  the  taste 
of  it  before,  Black  wondered,  as  he  sniffed  the  delicious 
fragrance?  Red  had  worked  so  swiftly — in  entire  silence 
— that  the  hands  of  Black's  watch  pointed  to  a  bare  seven 
o'clock  when  he  set  his  teeth  into  the  first  hot,  juicy  morsel 
of  meat,  feeling  like  a  starved  hound  who  has  been  fed 
upon  scraps  for  a  month. 

"Oh,  jolly!"  he  ejaculated.  "I  never  tasted  anything 
so  good  in  my  life.  Or  was  so  warm  on  a  winter  night — 
outdoors!" 


SPENDTHRIFTS  129 

"You  bet  you  never  tasted  anything  so  good — nor  were 
so  warm  outdoors.  Why,  man,  you've  missed  the  best 
fun  in  life,  if  this  is  your  first  experience.  How  does  it 
happen?" 

"I've  never  done  anything  but  work,  and  my  work 
never  took  me  into  the  woods,  that's  all.  I've  looked  at 
them  longingly  many  a  time,  but — there  was  always 
something  else  to  do.  What  a  place  this  is!  Of  all  places 
on  earth  to  come  to  to-night  this  seems  the]  best.  It's 
an  old  favourite  camping  spot  of  yours?" 

"One  of  many.  This  is  nearest — I  can  run  to  it  when 
I  haven't  time  to  get  farther.  Even  so — I  don't  manage 
it  very  often." 

"I'm  sure  you  don't!"  Black's  eyes,  in  the  firelight, 
looked  across  into  Red's.  The  moment  the  cookery  was 
done  Red  had  replenished  both  fires,  and  the  two  men  now 
sat  on  two  facing  logs  between  them.  "Your  time  is 
fuller  than  that  of  any  man  I  ever  knew/'  Black  added. 

"Lots  of  busy  men  in  the  world." 

"I  know.  But  your  hours  are  fuller  than  their  full 
hours  because  of  what  you  do — your  profession." 

"I  do  only  what  I  have  to  do.  But  you — I  wonder  if 
you  know  it,  Black — you're  a  spendthrift!" 

"What?"    The  explosive  tone  spoke  amazement. 

Red  nodded.  "I've  been  wanting  to  tell  you  for  some 
time.  Do  you  know  you  probably  weigh  about  fifteen 
pounds  less  than  you  did  when  you  came  here?  Keep 
that  up,  and  you'll  be  down  to  rock  bottom." 

Black  laughed.  He  held  up  one  arm,  the  hand  clenched. 
"Do  you  remember  the  challenge  I  gave  you  last  summer, 
Doctor,  to  a  wrestle,  any  time  you  might  take  me  up? 
If  we  weren't  both  stuffed,  just  now,  I'd  have  it  out  with 
you,  here  and  now." 


i3o  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Very  likely  you  could  put  it  all  over  me — though  I'm 
not  so  sure  of  that."  Red  was  eyeing  his  companion  with 
the  professional  eye  still.  "But — go  on  as  you  are  doing, 
and  a  year  from  now  it'll  be  different.  You're  wasting 
nervous  energy — and  you  can't  afford  to.  It's  as  I  say — 
you're  a  spendthrift.  What's  the  use?" 

"I'm  a  Scotsman — and  that's  equivalent  to  saying  I 
spend  only  what's  necessary.  It's  a  contradiction  in 
terms " 

"It  is  not — excuse  me.  I've  been  reading  about  one 
of  your  Scottish  regiments  over  there — cut  to  pieces — 
and  they  knew  they  were  going  to  be  when  they  went  into 
it.  Call  them  thrifty — of  their  lives?" 

"Ah,  that's  different.  They  were  glorious.  As  for 
that,  Doctor — to  right-about-face  with  my  defense — why 
shouldn't  one  be  a  spendthrift  with  his  life?  You're  one 
yourself." 

"Not  I.  I  practice  my  profession,  and  mine  only. 
You  practice — about  four.  Last  week  I  caught  you  play 
ing  nurse  to  a  family  of  small  children  while  their  mother 
went  shopping."  Red  held  up  a  silencing  hand  at  Black's 
laughter.  "Yes,  I  know  she  hadn't  been  out  for  a  month. 
That  same  night  you  made  a  speech  somewhere — and  sat 

up  the  rest  of  the  night  with  Gary  Ray Oh,  yes — I 

know  he's  improved  a  lot  lately,  but  he  got  restless  that 
night  and  you  stuck  by.  Next  day " 

"Doctor  Burns " 

"Wait  a  minute.     Next  day  you " 

"How  do  you  come  to  be  keeping  tab  on  me?"  Black 
stood  up,  fire  in  his  eye.  "See  here!  Last  week  you  did 
seven  operations  on  patients  who  couldn't  afford  to  pay 
you  a  cent — and  they  weren't  in  charity  wards,  either. 
Day  before  yesterday " 


SPENDTHRIFTS  131 

But  he  had  to  stop,  having  but  fairly  begun.  Red's 
expression  said  he  wouldn't  stand  for  it.  The  two  re 
garded  each  other  in  the  light  of  the  fires,  and  both  faces 
were  glowing  ruddily.  They  suggested  two  antagonists 
about  to  spring. 

"If  I'm  a  spendthrift,  so  are  you!"  Black  challenged. 
"Why  shouldn't  we  be,  at  that?  Who  gets  anything  out 
of  life — not  to  mention  giving  anything — who  isn't  a 
spendthrift?  'He  who  saveth  his  life  shall  lose  if — and 
nobody  knows  that  better  than  you,  Doctor  Burns!" 

"But  you  waste  yours,  you  know,"  said  Burns,  with 
emphasis. 

"No  more  than  you  do." 

"I  do  it  to  save  life." 

"And  what  do  I  do  it  for?"  The  question  came  back 
like  a  shot,  with  stinging  emphasis  and  challenge. 

The  two  pairs  of  eyes  continued  to  meet  dashingly,  and 
for  a  minute  neither  would  give  way.  Then  Red  said, 
with  a  rather  grudging  admission,  "  I  know  you  think  you 
have  to  do  all  these  extras,  and  you  do  them  with  intent 
and  purpose,  and  willingly,  at  that.  But  I  don't  back 
down  on  my  proposition — that  you're  working  harder  at 
it  than  is  necessary.  I'll  admit  I  want  you  to  do  what  you 
can  for  Gary  Ray — for  his  sister's  sake.  But  when  it 
comes  to  the  DuBoises,  and  the  Corrigans,  and  the  Ander 
sons — why  should  you  spend  yourself  on  them — ungrate 
ful  beggars?" 

"I  can  only  ask  you,  Doctor,  why  you  spend  yourself 
on  the  Wellands  and  the  Kalanskys,  and  the  Kellys?" 

Suddenly  Red's  attitude  changed,  with  one  of  those 
characteristic  quick  shifts  which  made  him  such  delightful 
company.  He  looked  at  his  watch  and  sat  down  on  the 
log  again.  "Six  minutes  to  stay,  and  then  back  to  that 


132  RED  AND  BLACK 

blamed  committee  meeting  for  yours,  and  back  to  my 
office  for  me — I  can  see  ten  people  sitting  there  now,  in  my 
mind's  eye.  Hang  it — why  can't  a  fellow  stay  in  the  open 
when  it's  there  he  can  be  at  his  best,  physically  and 
mentally?" 

"It  seems  to  make  you  a  bit  pugilistic!" 

Red  looked  up,  laughing.  "How  about  you?  For  a 
parson  it  strikes  me  you  can  fight  back  with  both  fists." 

"Doctor — let's  have  that  wrestle  now!  I'd  like  it  to 
remember." 

"You  would,  would  you  ?  Hold  on — don't  take  off  your 
coat.  I  know  better  than  to  play  tricks  with  my  digestion 
like  that,  if  you  don't.  You're  younger  than  I — you 
might  get  away  with  it.  But — I'll  give  you  that  tussle 
some  day  you're  so  anxious  for." 

"Meanwhile — I  wish  you'd  give  me  something  else." 

"What's  that?"  Red  was  instantly  on  his  guard — 
Black  could  see  that  clearly.  He  had  expected  it.  But 
it  did  not  deter  him  from  saying  the  thing  he  wanted  to 
say. 

"Shake  hands  with  me.  Did  you  know  you  never 
have?" 

"Never  have!" 

"Not  the  way  I  want  you  to.  I'm  asking  you  now  to 
shake  hands  with  my  profession.  I'm  tired  of  having  you 
against  it.  I  ask  you  to  give  it  fair  play  in  your  mind. 
You  admit  that  it's  worth  while  for  you  to  spend  the  last 
drop  you  have  for  human  life.  But  it's  wasting  good  red 
blood  for  a  man  to  spend  his  for  human  souls.  Do  you 
mean  it?  Ah,  Doctor  Burns,  you  don't.  Tell  me  so — • 
the  way  I  want  you  to." 

The  suspicion  dropped  out  of  Red's  eyes,  but  into  them 
came  something  else — the  showing  of  a  dogged  human  will. 


SPENDTHRIFTS  133 

He  stood  looking  into  the  fire,  his  hands  in  his  pockets — 
where  they  had  been  for  some  time.  He  made  no  motion 
to  withdraw  them.  Black's  hands  were  clasped  behind 
him — he  made  no  motion  to  extend  them.  A  long  silence 
succeeded — or  long  it  seemed  to  Black,  at  least.  Had 
he  lost  his  case?  He  had  never  thought  to  state  it  thus, 
to  Red — but  when  the  moment  came  it  had  seemed  to- 
him  he  could  do  no  otherwise.  .  .  .  His  heart  beat 
rather  heavily.  .  .  .  How  was  Red  going  to  take  it? 

The  red-headed  surgeon  looked  up  at  last.  "Do  you 
mean  you  want  me  to  shake  hands  with  your  entire  pro 
fession — all  the  men  in  it?" 

"Are  there  no  charlatans  in  medicine?  But  you — 
are  the  real  thing.  I  wouldn't  deny  you  a  handshake — 
if  you  wanted  it." 

Slowly  Red  drew  his  right  hand  out  of  his  pocket. 
"You  want  this  tribute — to  you,  as  a  minister?" 

Then  Black's  eyes  flamed.  He  took  a  step  backward. 
"I  want  no  'tribute,'  Doctor, — my  heaven! — you  don't 
think  that!  All  I  want  is — to  know  that — as  a  minister 
you  can  shake  hands  with  me  and  believe — that  I'm  as  real 

as  I  know  you  to  be.     If  you  can't  do  that "  he  turned 

aside.  "Oh,  never  mind!  I  didn't  mean  to  try  to  force 
it  from  you.  Let's  be  off.  It  must  be  high  time,  and 
it's  more  than  high  time  if " 

A  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder  and  stayed  there.  Another 
hand  found  his  and  gripped  it  tight.  "Oh,  come  along. 
Bob  Black!"  said  a  gruff  voice  with  yet  a  ring  in  it. 
"You're  the  realest  chap  I  know.  And  I've  tried  my 
darned  best  not  to  like  you — and  I  can't  get  away  with 
it.  Now — are  you  satisfied?" 


CHAPTER  IX 
"BURN,  FIRE,  BURN!" 

SIS,  I'll  stump  you  to  go  to  church  with  me  this 
morning!" 

It  may  have  been  rather  a  peculiar  form  of  invitation  to 
attend  upon  the  service  of  the  sanctuary,  but  that  was  not 
the  reason  for  the  startled  expression  on  Jane  Ray's  face. 
She  simply  couldn't  believe  that  it  was  her  brother  Gary 
who  was  making  the  proposal.  Church! — when  had  Gary 
ever  gone  to  any  church  whatever? — unless  it  might  have 
been  for  the  purpose  of  gathering  material  for  some  bril 
liant,  ironic  article  with  which  to  do  his  share  in  that  old 
fight  of  the  world  against  the  forms  of  religion.  As  for  her 
self — it  had  long  been  her  custom  to  employ  her  Sunday 
mornings  in  making  up  her  business  accounts  for  the  week. 

Her  reply  was  a  parry.  "What  church  would  you 
suggest  going  to?" 

Gary's  glance  at  her  was  both  sharp  and  whimsical.  "Is 
there  more  than  one  ?  According  to  what  I  hear,  the  'Stone 
Church,'  as  they  call  it,  is  the  one  where  the  town  is  flock 
ing  to  hear  our  friend,  the  fighting  parson,  say  things  that 
stop  the  breath.  I  understand  his  trustees  are  mostly 
pacifists.  It  must  grind  'em  like  fun  to  hear  their  Scots 
man  firing  his  machine  gun,  regardless.  I  admit  I  want  to 
be  in  on  it.  I  think  this  country's  going  to  get  into  it  be 
fore  long,  and  when  it  does  I  expect  to  see  Robert  Black 
off  like  a  shot  for  some  place  where  pacifists  are  unpopular." 

134 


"BURN,  FIRE,  BURN!"  135 

"He  has  never  asked  us  to  come  to  his  church,"  Jane 
temporized. 

"No.  That's  why  I  want  to  go.  I've  been  waiting 
all  this  while  to  have  him  ask  me,  so  I  could  turn  him  down. 
But  he  never  has,  so,  being  quite  human,  I'm  piqued  into 
going  on  my  own  motion.  Come  along,  Sis.  I'll  guar 
antee  if  an  old  sinner  like  me  can  stand  the  gaff,  a  young 
saint  like  you  will  be  in  her  element." 

Jane  gave  him  a  sparkling  smile.  "Very  well,  Gary 
Ray.  It  will  be  your  fault  if  we  feel  like  fish  very  much 
out  of  water  and  don't  know  how  to  act.  I  haven't  been 
in  a  church  in  at  least  three  years." 

"The  more  shame  to  you.  Most  of  them  are  mighty 
comfortable  places  in  which  to  sit  and  pursue  your  own 
train  of  thought,  and  on  that  ground  alone  you  should  be 
a  constant  attendant.  Though  I  doubt  very  much  if 
we  are  able  to  pursue  any  train  of  thought,  within  hearing 
of  R.  Black,  except  the  one  he  chooses  to  put  up  to  us. 
The  more  I've  seen  of  him  the  more  I've  discovered  of  his 
little  tendency  to  keep  one  occupied  with  him  exclusively. 
Well,  if  you'll  go  I'll  have  a  clean  shave  and  look  up  my 
best  gloves.  We'll  give  him  a  bit  of  a  surprise.  To  tell  the 
truth,  I'm  beginning  to  think  we  owe  it  to  him." 

There  could  be  small  doubt  of  this.  In  the  three 
months  which  had  intervened  between  Gary  Ray's  arrival — 
for  all  hope  there  seemed  of  him,  both  physically  and  mor 
ally  down  and  out — Robert  Black  had  stood  steadily  by 
him.  His  comradeship  had  been  a  direct  challenge  to 
Gary's  better  self,  and  all  that  was  good  in  the  young  man 
— and  there  was  undoubtedly  very  much — had  rallied 
to  meet  the  sturdy  beckoning  of  this  new  friend.  At  an 
early  date  the  two  had  discovered  that,  different  as  they 
were  in  character,  they  had  one  thing  mightily  in  common 


136  RED  AND  BLACK 

— the  delights  and  tortures  of  the  creative  brain.  Jane 
had  called  Gary  a  genius,  and  so  he  was — perhaps  in  the 
lesser  and  more  commonly  used  meaning  of  the  too  much 
used  word.  His  articles  on  any  theme  were  always  wel 
comed  in  certain  of  the  best  newspaper  and  magazine 
offices,  and  only  his  lack  of  dependability  and  his  erratic 
ways  of  working  had  kept  him  from  rapid  advancement 
in  his  world. 

Black,  discovering  almost  at  once  that  he  had  to  deal 
with  a  brain  which,  if  it  could  be  freed  from  the  handicap 
of  dissipation,  would  be  capable  of  production  worth  any 
effort  to  salvage  from  the  threatened  wreck,  had  thrown 
himself,  heart  and  soul,  into  winning  Gary's  friendship  on 
the  ground  of  their  common  interest  and  understanding. 
To  do  this  he  had  used  every  particle  of  skill  he  possessed, 
and  his  reward  had  been  the  knowledge  of  the  steadily 
lengthening  periods  of  Gary's  reasonableness  and  his  re 
sponse  to  the  stimulus  which  will  always  be  greater  than 
almost  any  other — the  demand  of  a  friend  who  cares  that 
we  live  up  to  his  belief  in  us.  Gary  had  come  to  think 
of  Robert  Black  as  the  best  friend  he  had  in  the  world, 
after  his  sister,  and  to  look  forward  to  the  hours  the  two 
spent  together  as  the  brightest  spots  in  a  life  which  had 
become  dimmed  at  an  age  when  it  should  have  known  its 
fullest  zest. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Robert  Black,  entering  his 
pulpit  that  Sunday  morning,  and  presently  taking  estimate 
of  his  congregation,  as  a  preacher  must  do  if  he  is  to  know 
how  to  aim  accurately  and  fire  straight,  caught  sight  of 
two  people  whose  presence  before  him  gave  him  a  distinct 
shock  of  surprise.  He  had  been  sure  he  would  some  time 
get  that  shock,  but  it  had  been  long  delayed,  and  he  had 
rather  doggedly  persisted  in  withholding  the  direct  invita- 


"BURN,  FIRE,  BURN!"  137 

tion,  reasoning  with  himself  that  he  would  rather  have 
Jane  and  Gary  come  for  any  other  reason  than  the  paying 
of  the  debt  he  knew  they  must  feel  they  owed  him. 

And  now  they  were  there  before  him — rather  near  him, 
too.  Young  Perkins,  one  of  the  ushers  for  the  middle 
aisle,  had  pounced  on  them  as  a  pair  who  would  do  credit 
\o  his  natural  desire  to  have  all  the  best  dressed  and  most 
distinguished  looking  strangers  placed  where  they  would 
do  the  most  good  to  the  personnel  of  the  congregation. 
He  knew  Jane  for  what  he  called  "a  stunner,"  thereby 
paying  youthful  tribute  to  her  looks  and  quiet  perfection 
of  dress.  As  for  Gary,  one  glance  of  appraisal  had  placed 
him,  for  Perkins,  in  the  class  of  the  "classy,"  than  which 
there  is  no  greater  compliment  in  the  vocabulary  of  the 
Perkinses.  Therefore  it  was  that  Perkins,  leading  Jane 
and  Gary  down  the  middle  aisle,  had  complacently  slipped 
them  into  the  pew  of  one  of  the  leading  members — to-day 
out  of  town,  as  he  knew — and  thus  had  left  them  within 
exceedingly  close  range  of  whatever  gunfire  might  be  at 
the  command  of  the  pulpit.  Perkins,  having  hurriedly 
scanned  the  headlines  of  the  morning  papers,  had  a  hunch 
that  it  was  going  to  be  one  of  those  mornings  when  the 
congregation  would  be  likely  to  leave  the  church  with 
its  hair  a  trifle  rampant  on  its  brow  from  excited  thrust- 
ings — or  with  its  hats  a  little  askew  from  agitated  noddings 
or  shakings.  He  had  come  to  look  forward  to  such  Sun 
days  with  increasing  zest.  There  was  something  else  to 
stake  quarters  on  with  the  other  ushers,  these  days,  than 
on  how  late  Doctor  Burns  was  going  to  be  at  church,  or 
how  short  a  time  he  would  be  permitted  to  remain  there. 
Perkins  was  beginning  to  wonder  how  he  had  ever  endured 
the  dull  times  of  Black's  immediate  predecessor;  certainly 
he  was  rejoicing  that  they  were  over. 


138  RED  AND  BLACK 

Frances  Fitch,  in  the  Lockhart  pew,  just  across  the 
aisle  and  two  rows  behind  Jane  and  Gary,  found  the  pair 
a  particularly  interesting  study.  Through  Tom  she  had 
heard  much  of  Cary;  she  had  caught  only  unsatisfying 
glimpses  before.  As  he  sat  at  the  end  of  the  pew  nearest 
the  aisle  she  had  a  full  view  of  that  profile  which  had  first 
assured  Black  that  Cary  was  indeed  Jane's  brother,  and 
it  now  struck  Miss  Fitch  as  one  of  the  most  attractive 
masculine  outlines  she  had  ever  seen.  Cary  was  still 
distinctly  pale,  but  his  pallor  was  becoming  more  healthy 
with  each  succeeding  day  of  Jane's  skillful  feeding,  and  his 
manner  had  lost  its  excessive  nervousness.  To  the  eye, 
by  now,  he  merely  looked  the  interesting  convalescent 
from  a  possibly  severe  illness,  with  every  probability  of  a 
complete  return  to  full  fitness  of  body.  As  to  his  mind — 
one  glance  at  him  could  hardly  help  suggesting  to  the  in 
telligent  observer  that  here  was  a  young  man  who  possessed 
brains  trained  to  the  point  of  acuteness  and  efficiency  in 
whatever  lines  they  might  be  employed. 

To  look  at  either  Cary  or  Jane,  moreover,  one  would 
hardly  have  said  that  church  was  to  them  so  unaccustomed 
a  place.  Jane,  sitting  or  rising  with  the  rest,  sharing 
hymn-book  or  printed  leaf  of  the  responsive  service  with 
her  brother,  appeared  the  most  decorous  of  regular  com 
municants.  For  herself,  however,  she  was  experiencing 
many  curious  reactions,  the  most  distinct  of  which, 
throughout  the  preliminary  service,  was  caused  by  the 
sight  of  Robert  McPherson  Black,  in  his  gown,  and  with 
the  high  gravity  upon  him  which  she  had  never  before 
seen  in  precisely  its  present  quality.  Could  this  be  the 
spirited  young  man  who  came  so  often  to  spend  an  hour 
with  Cary,  his  face  and  manner  full  of  a  winning  gayety 
or  of  an  equally  winning  vigour  of  speech  and  action? 


"BURN,  FIRE,  BURN!"  139 

This  was  another  being  indeed  who  confronted  her,  a 
being  removed  from  her  as  by  a  great  gulf  fixed,  his  fine 
eyes  by  no  chance  meeting  hers,  his  voice  by  no  means 
addressed  to  her,  but  to  the  remotest  person  in  his  audi 
ence,  far  back  under  the  gallery.  For  the  first  time  Jane 
Ray  was  realizing  that  well  as  it  had  seemed  to  her  that 
she  had  come  to  know  the  man  Black,  she  actually  knew 
him  hardly  at  all,  for  here,  in  this  place  to  her  so  unfa 
miliar,  was  his  real  home! 

And  then,  very  soon  came  an  equally  strong  reaction 
from  this  first  impression  of  remoteness.  For,  the  mo 
ment  the  anthems  and  the  responses  and  the  rest  of  the 
preliminary  service  was  over,  and  Black  had  been  for 
three  minutes  upon  his  feet  in  his  office  of  preacher,  the 
whole  situation  was  reversed.  No  longer  did  he  seem  to 
be  sending  that  trained  and  reverent  voice  of  his  to  every 
quarter  of  the  large,  hushed  audience  room;  but  in  a  new 
and  arresting  way  he  was  addressing  Jane  Ray  very  di 
rectly,  he  was  speaking  straight  to  her,  and  she  had  quite 
forgotten  that  there  was  any  one  else  there  to  hear.  If 
this  impression  of  hers  was  precisely  like  that  which 
reached  each  person  within  sound  of  his  voice  who  pos 
sessed  the  intelligence  to  listen,  that  was  nothing  to  her — 
nor  to  them.  The  simple  fact  was  that  when  Robert 
Black  spoke  to  an  audience  as  from  his  very  first  word 
he  was  speaking  now,  that  audience  had  no  choice  but 
to  listen,  and  it  listened  as  individuals,  with  each  of  whom 
he  was  intimately  concerned. 

As  for  Gary  Ray — perhaps  there  was  nobody  in  that 
whole  audience  so  well  qualified  to  measure  the  speaker's 
ability  and  power  as  he.  He  had  spent  no  small  portion 
of  his  early  after-college  days  in  reporting  for  a  great  city 
daily,  and  his  assignment  very  often  had  been  the  follow- 


i4o  RED  AND  BLACK 

ing  up  of  one  noted  speaker  after  another.  He  had  listened 
to  eloquence  of  all  sorts,  spurious  and  real;  had  come  to 
be  a  judge  of  quality  in  human  speech  in  all  its  ramifica 
tions;  was  by  now  himself  a  literary  critic  of  no  inferior 
sort.  His  mind,  at  its  best — and  it  was  not  far  short  of 
its  best  on  this  Sunday  morning — was  keen  and  clear.  As 
he  gave  himself  up  to  Black  as  one  gives  himself  up  to  a 
friend  who  is  setting  before  him  a  matter  of  import,  he  was 
a  hearer  of  the  sort  whom  speakers  would  go  far  to  find. 

Did  Black  know  this?  Unquestionably  he  did.  He 
knew  also  that  Red  was  in  his  audience  this  morning,  and 
Jane  Ray,  and  Nan  Lockhart,  and  Fanny  Fitch,  and 
many  another,  and  that  every  last  one  of  them  was  listen 
ing  as  almost  never  before.  How  could  they  help  but 
hear,  when  he  was  saying  to  them  that  which  challenged 
their  attention  as  he  was  challenging  it  now? 

This  was  in  February,  nineteen  seventeen.  Diplomatic 
relations  with  Germany  had  been  severed;  America  was 
on  the  brink  of  war.  One  tremendous  question  was  en 
gaging  the  whole  country:  was  it  America's  duty  to  go 
into  war?  Was  it  her  necessity?  Was  it — and  here  a  few 
voices  were  rising  loud  and  clear — was  it  not  only  her 
necessity  and  her  duty — was  it  her  privilege? 

No  doubt  where  Robert  Black  stood.  It  was  America's 
privilege,  the  acceptance  of  which  had  been  already  too 
long  postponed.  In  no  uncertain  terms  he  made  his  con 
viction  clear.  The  blood  baptism  which  was  purifying 
the  souls  of  other  countries  must  be  ours  as  well,  or  never 
again  could  we  be  clean.  To  save  our  souls — to  save  our 
souls — that  was  his  plea! 

"Oh,  I  wish,"  he  cried  out  suddenly  toward  the  end, 
"I  wish  I  had  the  dramatic  power  to  set  the  thing  before 
you  so  that  you  might  see  it  as  you  see  a  convincing  play 


"BURN,  FIRE,  BURN!"  141 

upon  a  stage.  Never  a  human  drama  like  this  one — and 
we — are  sitting  in  the  boxes!  Bathed  and  clean  clothed 
and  gloved — gloved — we  are  sitting  in  the  boxes  and  look 
ing  on — and  applauding  now  and  then — as  loudly  as  we 
may,  wearing  gloves!  And  over  there — their  hands  are 
torn  and  bleeding  with  wounds — while  we  delay — and 
delay — and  delay!'* 

Down  in  the  pew  before  him  Gary  Ray  suddenly 
clenched  his  fists.  His  arms  had  been  folded — his  hands 
were  gloved.  Gloved  hands  could  clench  then!  Into 
his  brain — now  afire  with  Black's  own  fire,  as  it  had  been 
more  than  once  before  now  as  the  two  talked  war  to 
gether — but  never  as  now — never  as  now — there  sprang 
an  idea,  glowing  with  life.  His  writer's  instinct  leaped 
at  it,  turned  it  inside  out  and  back  again,  saw  it  through 
to  its  ultimate  effort — and  never  once  lost  track  of  Black's 
closing  words,  or  missed  a  phrase  of  the  brief  prayer  that 
followed,  a  prayer  that  seemed  to  rise  visibly  from  the 
altar,  so  burning  were  the  words  of  it.  ^  Gary  rose  from  his 
seat,  a  man  illumined  with  a  purpose. 

Up  the  aisle  he  felt  Red's  hand  upon  his  arm.  Those 
orders  to  the  usher  not  to  call  the  red-headed  doctor  out 
for  anything  but  an  emergency  had  been  regularly  in 
force  of  late.  Astonishingly  often  was  the  once  absentee 
now  able  to  make  connections  with  his  pew,  at  least  in 
time  for  the  sermon.  To  his  friend  Macauley,  who  now 
and  then  let  loose  jeering  comments  upon  the  subject  of 
his  change  of  ways,  he  was  frank  to  admit  that  it  did  make 
a  difference  in  the  drawing  power  of  the  church  whether 
the  man  in  the  pulpit  could  aim  only  soft  and  futile  blows, 
or  whether  he  could  hit  straight  and  fast  and  hard.  "And 
whether,"  Red  added  once,  bluntly,  "you  happen  to 
know  that  he  practises  precisely  what  he  preaches." 


I42  RED  AND  BLACK 

In  Gary's  ear  Red  now  said  incisively:  "What  are  you 
betting  that  sermon  will  cost  him  half  his  congregation?" 

Gary  turned,  his  dark  eyes  afire.  "If  it  does,  we'll  fill 
it  up  with  vagrants  like  me.  My  lord,  that  was  hot  stuff! 
And  this  is  the  first  time  I've  heard  him — more  fool  I. 
Why  didn't  you  let  a  fellow  know?" 

Red  laughed  rather  ruefully.  "Gary,"  he  said,  "it's 
astonishing  how  we  do  go  on  entertaining  angels  unawares. 
But  when  we  get  one  with  a  flaming  sword,  like  this  one, 
we're  just  as  liable  to  cut  and  run  as  to  stay  by  and  get 
our  own  hands  on  a  hilt  somewhere." 

"I've  got  mine  on  one,  I  promise  you,"  murmured  Gary. 
His  one  idea  now  was  to  reach  home  and  lay  his  hand 
upon  it.  If,  to  him,  his  fountain  pen  was  the  trustiest 
sword  in  his  arsenal,  let  none  disparage  that  mighty 
weapon.  In  his  hands,  if  those  hands  remained  steady, 
it  might  in  time  do  some  slashing  through  obstacles. 

It  was  just  three  days  later  that  Jane  Ray,  coming  in 
from  the  shop,  saw  Gary  sling  that  pen — hurriedly  capped 
for  the  purpose — clear  across  the  table,  at  which  for  those 
three  days  he  had  been  writing  almost  steadily.  He  threw 
up  his  arms  in  a  gesture  of  mingled  fatigue  and  triumph. 

"Janey,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  send  for  Robert  Black, 
and  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Burns,  and  your  friend  Miss  Lock- 
hart — you  told  me  she  wrote  plays  at  college,  didn't  you  ? 
— and  her  friend,  Miss  Fitch,  the  raving  beauty  who  acts 
— probably  acts  all  the  time,  but  none  the  worse  for  that, 
for  my  purpose.  Also,  Tommy  Lockhart.  I  want  'em 
all,  and  I  want  'em  quick.  I  can't  sleep  till  I've  had  'em 
here  to  listen  to  what  I've  done.  And  now — if  I  weren't 
under  your  roof,  and  if  I  didn't  care  such  a  blamed  lot 
about  not  letting  Black  down — I'd  go  out  and  take  a 


"BURN,  FIRE,  BURN!"  143 

drink.  Oh,  don't  worry — I  won't — not  just  yet,  any 
how.  I'll  go  out  and  take  a  walk  instead.  My  head's  on 
fire  and  my  feet  are  two  chunks  from  the  North  Pole." 

Happier  than  she  had  been  for  a  long  time,  her  hopes 
for  her  brother  rising  higher  than  they  had  yet  dared  to 
rise,  in  spite  of  all  the  encouragement  his  improvement 
had  given  her,  Jane  made  haste  to  summon  these  people 
whose  presence  he  had  demanded.  They  came  on  short 
notice;  even  Red,  who  said  at  first  that  he  couldn't  make 
it  by  any  possible  chance,  electrified  them  all  and  made 
Gary's  pale  cheek  glow  with  satisfaction  when  at  the  last 
minute  he  appeared. 

"Confound  you,  who  are  you  to  interfere  with  my 
schedule?"  Red  growled,  as  he  shook  hands.  "I  was  due 
at  a  Medical  Society  Meeting,  where  I  was  booked  as 
leader  of  a  discussion.  They'll  discuss  the  thing  to  tatters 
without  me,  while  I  could  have  rounded  'em  up  and 
driven  'em  into  the  corral  with  one  big  discovery  that 
they're  not  onto  yet." 

"Mighty  sorry,  Doctor.  But,  you  see,  I  had  to  have 
you."  Gary  grinned  at  him  impudently.  "I've  been 
raving  crazy  for  three  days  and  nights,  and  if  I  can't  call 

in  medical  aid  on  the  strength  of  that Oh,  I  know 

I'm  mighty  presumptuous,  but — well — listen,  and  I'll  try 
to  justify  myself." 

They  listened  for  an  hour.  They  could  hardly  help 
it.  As  a  down-and-outer  Gary  Ray  had  been  an  object  of 
solicitude  and  sympathy;  as  a  clever,  forceful,  intensely 
yet  restrainedly  dramatic  playwright,  he  was  a  person  to 
astonish  and  take  his  new  acquaintances  off  their  feet. 
Stirred  as  he  had  been,  gripped  by  the  big  idea  Black  had 
unknowingly  put  into  his  head,  he  had  gone  at  this  task 
as  he  had  time  and  again  gone  at  a  difficult  piece  of  news- 


i44  RED  AND  BLACK 

paper  work.  With  every  faculty  alert,  every  sense  of  the 
dramatic  possibilities  of  the  conception  stringing  him  to 
a  tension,  his  thoughts  thronging,  his  language  fluid,  his 
whole  being  had  been  sharpened  into  an  instrument  which 
his  brain,  the  master,  might  command  to  powerful  purpose. 
Thus  had  he  written  the  one-act  war  play  which  was  to 
fire  the  imagination,  enlist  the  sympathies,  capture  the 
hearts  of  thousands  of  those  who  later  saw  it  put  upon 
the  vaudeville  circuit,  where  its  influence,  cumulative  as 
the  fame  of  it  spread  and  the  press  comments  grew  in 
wonder  and  praise,  was  accountable  for  many  a  patriotic 
word  and  act  which  otherwise  never  had  been  born. 

But  now — he  was  reading  it  for  the  first  time  to  this 
little  audience  of  chosen  people,  "trying  it  out  on  them," 
as  the  phrase  ran  in  his  own  mind.  He  had  no  possible 
doubt  of  its  reception.  His  own  judgment,  trained  to 
pass  upon  his  own  performance  with  as  critical  a  sureness 
as  upon  that  of  any  other  man,  told  him  that  he  had  done  a 
remarkable  piece  of  work.  To  him  it  was  ancient  history 
that  when  he  could  write  as  he  had  written  now,  with 
neither  let  nor  hindrance  to  the  full  use  of  his  powers,  it 
followed  as  the  night  the  day  that  his  editors  would  put 
down  the  sheets  with  that  grim  smile  with  which  they 
were  wont  to  accept  the  best  a  man  could  do,  nod  at  him, 
possibly  say:  "Great  stuff,  Ray," — and  brag  about  it 
afterward  where  he  could  not  hear. 

To-night,  when  he  laid  down  the  last  sheet  and  got  up 
to  stroll  over  to  a  shadowy  corner  and  get  rid  of  his  own 
overwrought  emotion  as  best  he  might,  he  understood 
that  the  silence  which  succeeded  the  reading  was  his 
listeners'  first  and  deepest  tribute  to  his  art.  His  climax 
had  been  tremendous,  led  up  to  by  every  least  word  and 
indicated  action  that  had  gone  before,  the  finished  product 


"BURN,  FIRE,  BURN!"  145 

of  a  nearly  perfect  craftsmanship.  Small  wonder  that 
for  a  long  minute  nobody  found  voice  to  express  the 
moved  and  shaken  condition  in  which  each  found  himself. 

But  when  it  did  come,  there  was  nothing  wanting.  If 
they  were  glad  beyond  measure,  these  people,  that  they 
could  honestly  approve  the  work  of  this  brother  of  Jane's, 
this  was  but  a  small  part  of  the  feeling  which  now  had  its 
strong  hold  upon  them.  Wonder,  delight,  eagerness  to 
see  the  little  drama  glow  like  a  jewel  upon  the  stage — 
these  were  what  brought  words  to  the  tongue  at  length. 
And  then — plans! 

"We  can't  get  it  on  too  quick,"  was  Red's  instant  deci 
sion.  "It  must  be  done  here  first,  and  then  turned  loose 
on  the  circuit.  We  can  handle  it.  Nan  Lockhart  can 
help  you  get  it  up,  Gary — and  take  the  part  of  the  English 
woman,  too.  Of  course  Miss  Fitch  must  do  the  French 
actress — she's  cut  out  for  that.  I'm  inclined  to  think 
my  wife  would  make  the  best  Belgian  mother.  Tom  can 
be  the  wounded  young  poilu,  and  you,  Ray — will  be  the 
French  officer  to  the  life.  As  for  the  rest — we  have  plenty 
of  decidedly  clever  young  actors  who  will  be  equal  to  the 
minor  parts." 

There  was  a  general  laugh.  "I  seem  to  see  the  foot 
lights  turned  on  already,"  Gary  declared.  "But  that's 
not  a  bad  assignment.  Would  you — "  he  turned  to 
Black — "I  wonder  if  you  would  take  the  part  of  the 
American  surgeon." 

Now  this  was  a  great  part,  if  a  small  one  as  to  actual 
lines.  Every  eye  turned  to  the  minister.  Fit  the  part — 
with  that  fine,  candid  face,  those  intent  eyes?  No  doubt 
that  he  did.  But  he  shook  his  head  with  decision. 

"I'd  do  much  for  you,  Ray,"  he  said,  "but  not  that. 
It's  not  possible  for  me  to  take  a  part.  I've  a  real  rea- 


146  RED  AND  BLACK 

son,"  as  Gary's  lips  opened,  "so  don't  try  to  persuade 
me.  But  I'll  help  in  every  way  I  can.  And  as  for  the 
surgeon — why  not  take  the  one  at  hand?"  And  he  indi 
cated  Burns  himself. 

"I'll  do  it!"  announced  Red,  most  unexpectedly. 

They  spent  a  fascinated  hour  discussing  the  characters 
and  who  could  do  them  full  justice.  There  was  nobody 
to  see,  but  if  there  had  been  a  disinterested  onlooker,  he 
might  have  said  to  himself  that  here  was  a  group  of  people 
who  of  themselves  were  playing  out  a  little  drama  of  their 
own,  each  quite  unconsciously  taking  a  significant  part. 
There  was  R.  P.  Burns,  M.  D. — his  red  head  and  vigorous 
personality  more  or  less  dominating  the  scene.  There  was 
Ellen  Burns,  his  wife — dark-eyed,  serene,  highly  intelligent 
in  the  occasional  suggestions  she  made,  but  mostly  allow 
ing  others  to  talk  while  she  listened  with  that  effect  of 
deep  interest  which  made  her  so  charming  to  everyone. 
There  was  Nan  Lockhart,  quick  of  wit  and  eager  to  bring 
all  her  past  training  to  bear  on  the  situation,  her  bright 
smile  or  her  quizzical  frown  registering  approval  or  criti 
cism.  There  was  Fanny  Fitch,  radiant  with  delight  in  the 
prospects  opening  before  her,  her  eyes  starry,  her  face 
repeating  the  rose-leaf  hues  of  the  scarf  she  wore  within 
her  sumptuous  dark  cape  of  fur — somehow  Miss  Fitch's 
skillful  dressing  always  gave  a  point  of  light  and  colour 
for  the  eye  to  rest  gratifiedly  upon.  Then  there  was 
Robert  Black,  rather  quiet  to-night,  but  none  the  less 
a  person  to  be  decidedly  taken  into  account,  as  was 
quite  unconsciously  proved  by  the  eyes  which  turned  his 
way  whenever  he  broke  his  silence  with  question  or  sug 
gestion.  There  was  Tom  Lockhart,  somehow  reminding 
one  of  a  well-trained  puppy  endeavouring  to  maintain  his 
dignity  while  bursting  to  make  mischief;  his  impish  glance 


"BURN,  FIRE,  BURN!"  147 

resting  on  one  face  after  another,  his  gay  young  speech 
occasionally  causing  everybody's  gravity  to  break  down — • 
as  when  he  solemnly  declared  that  unless  he  himself  were 
allowed  to  play  some  austerely  exalted  part  yet  to  be 
written  into  the  play  he  would  go  home  and  never  come 
back.  There  was  Jane  Ray,  who  sat  next  Tom,  and  who 
somehow  looked  to-night  as  young  as  he — younger,  even, 
than  Miss  Fitch,  whose  elegance  of  attire  contrasted  curi 
ously  with  Jane's  plain  little  dark  blue  frock.  Jane's  bru 
nette  beauty  was  deeply  enhanced  to-night  by  her  warm 
colour: and  her  brilliant  smile;  her  sparkling  eyes  as  she 
watched  her  brother  gave  everybody  the  impression  that 
she  was  gloriously  happy — as  indeed]  she  was.  For  was 

not  Gary 

Gary  himself  was  probably  the  figure  in  the  room  which, 
if  this  little  scene  had  been  actually  part  of  a  drama,  would 
have  become  the  focus  of  the  audience's  absorption.  In 
teresting  as  they  were,  the  other  actors  only  contributed 
to  his  success — he  was  the  centre  of  the  stage.  Dark, 
lithe,  his  excitement  showing  only  in  his  flashing  eyes, 
his  manner  cool,  controlled — he  was  the  picture  of  an  actor 
himself.  He  was  keenly  aware  that  the  tables  had  sud 
denly  been  turned,  and  that  from  being  a  mysterious  sort 
of  invalid,  Jane's  ne'er-do-well  brother,  he  had  emerged 
in  an  hour.  He  had  gathered  a  wreath  of  laurels  and  set 
it  upon  his  own  brow,  and  was  now  challenging  them  all 
to  say  if  he  had  not  a  place  in  the  world  after  all,  could 
not  claim  it  by  right  of  his  amazing  ability,  could  not  ask 
to  be  forgiven  all  his  sins  in  view  of  his  dazzling  exhibition 
of  an  art  nobody  had  realized  he  possessed.  Undeniably 
this  was  Gary's  hour,  and  Jane,  being  only  human, 
and  loving  him  very  much,  was  daring  to  believe  once 
again  that  her  brother  was  redeemed  to  her.  It  may 


148  RED  AND  BLACK 

not  be  wondered  at  that  now  and  again  her  eyes  rested 
gratefully  upon  the  two  men  who  had  done  this  thing  for 
Gary — and  for  her.  She  knew  that  they  must  be  rejoicing, 
too. 

It  was,  therefore,  something  of  a  shock  to  her  when 
from  Robert  Black,  before  they  left,  she  had  a  low-toned 
warning.  "Miss  Ray — "  Black  had  chosen  his  oppor 
tunity  carefully;  for  the  moment  the  two  were  well  apart 
from  the  rest — "I  don't  dare  not  tell  you  to  look  out 
for  him  to-night.  After  we  are  gone,  and  he  is  alone, 
there  will  come  an  hour  of — well — he  will  be  more  vulner 
able  than  he  has  been  for  a  month.  Don't  let  him  slip 
away — see  him  safely  relaxed  and  asleep." 

Jane's  expression  was  incredulous.  "Oh,  not  to-night, 
when  he  is  so  proud  and  happy — so  glad  to  have  you  all 
his  friends,  and  to  show  you  at  last  that  he  is  your  equal  in 
— so  many  ways." 

He  nodded  gravely:  "Believe  me,  I  know  what  I'm 
saying.  It's  a  bit  of  an  intoxication  in  itself,  this  reaction 
from  his  long  languor  of  mind.  He's  done  a  magnificent 
thing,  and  he's  now  in  very  great  danger.  Don't  allow 
yourself  to  minimize  it." 

"Oh,  you're  very  good!'*  Jane's  tone  was  a  little  im 
patient,  in  spite  of  herself.  "But  you  do  misjudge  him — 
to-night.  Why,  he's  just  his  old  self — as  you've  never 
known  him.  Of  course,  I'll  stay  by  him — and  I  under 
stand.  But — his  temptation  has  always  been  when  he 
was  blue  and  unhappy,  not  when  he  was  on  the  top  wave 

of  joy,  as  he  is  to-night — as  he  deserves  to  be "  Her 

voice  broke  a  little,  she  turned  away.  She  herself  was 
keyed  higher  than  she  knew;  she  simply  couldn't  bear  to 
have  Robert  Black,  or  anybody  else,  distrust  Gary  to-night 
— dear,  wonderful  Gary,  with  his  shining  eyes  and  his 


'BURN,  FIRE,  BURN!"  149 

adorable  smile,  her  beloved  brother  and  bis  genius  both 
restored  to  her.- 

Black's  low  voice  came  after  her:  "Fm  sorry — I  didn't 
mean  to  hurt  your  happiness  to-night,  of  all  nights.  I 
only — want  you  to  take  care  of  him  as " 

But  she  was  off,  back  to  her  guests,  cutting  him  short, 
with  only  a  nod  and  half  smile  back  at  him,  which  showed 
him  that  she  thought  him  wrong — and  a  little  cruel,  too. 

She  was  surer  than  ever  that  he  had  been  mistaken  when 
they  were  all  gone,  their  congratulations  on  Gary's  work 
still  ringing  in  her  ears.  He  threw  himself  upon  the  couch 
with  a  long  laughing  breath  and  a  prolonged  stretch  of  the 
arms.  "Smoke  and  ashes,  but  I'm  tired!"  he  declared. 
"I'll  stop  and  chin  with  you  about  ten  minutes,  and  then 
it's  me  for  bed." 

He  seemed  hardly  to  listen  while  she  told  him  how  she 
felt  about  his  work  and  the  evening,  how  she  knew  they 
all  felt.  She  could  see  that  he  was  all  at  once  very  sleepy 
and  exhausted,  and  when,  before  the  ten  minutes  were 
barely  up,  he  rose  and  stumbled  across  the  room,  declaring 
that  he  couldn't  hold  out  another  second,  she  smiled  to 
herself  as  she  put  her  arm  on  his  shoulder  and  insisted  on 
his  good-night  kiss.  He  had  to  cut  a  yawn  in  two  to  give 
it  to  her.  This  tired  boy  in  any  danger?  Hardly!  If 
he  had  still  been  excited  and  overstrung  she  might  have 
had  fears  for  him,  but  now — why,  he  would  be  asleep  be 
fore  he  could  get  his  clothes  off — that  was  what  was  most 
likely  to  happen,  after  these  three  days  and  nights  of  con 
suming  labour.  She  would  look  in,  by  and  by,  and  make 
sure  that,  as  in  his  boyish  days,  he  had  not  thrown  himself 
across  the  bed  without  undressing  at  all,  and  gone  off  into 
a  deep  slumber  from  which  her  sisterly  ministrations  would 
not  wake  him. 


150  RED  AND  BLACK 

She  never  knew  what  actually  happened  that  night. 
She  was  a  long  time  herself  in  making  ready  for  bed,  and 
so  busy  were  her  thoughts  that  for  an  hour  she  quite  forgot 
her  resolve  to  make  sure  of  Gary's  safety.  Then,  just  to 
prove  that  Black  was  unreasonable  in  his  fears,  she  went 
to  Gary's  door,  opened  it  very  gently,  and  saw  in  the  bed 
his  motionless  figure,  evidently  in  as  deep  a  sleep  as  any 
one  could  wish.  She  went  back  to  her  own  room  with 
a  curious  sense  of  injury  upon  her.  Why  had  the  minister 
tried  to  alarm  her  when  there  was  so  little  need  ?  Hadn't 
she  had  anxious  hours  enough? 

Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  door  of  the  shop  very 
softly  opened,  and  Gary  Ray  let  himself  out  into  the  silent 
little  street.  His  coat  collar  was  up,  his  hat  pulled  over 
his  eyes;  he  stole  away  on  noiseless  feet.  If  Jane  could 
have  seen  then  the  eyes  beneath  that  sheltering  hat-brim 
she  would  have  understood.  Sleep?  They  had  never 
been  farther  from  it,  so  glitteringly  sleepless  were  they. 

But  Robert  Black  saw  those  eyes — and  he  had  already 
understood.  As  Gary  slipped  round  the  corner  he  ran 
straight  into  a  tall  figure  coming  his  way.  With  a  low 
exclamation  of  dismay  he  would  have  rushed  by  and  away, 
but  Black  wheeled  and  was  at  his  side,  walking  with  him. 

"Out  for  a  walk,  Ray?"  said  the  low,  friendly  voice  he 
had  come  to  know  so  well.  "I  know  how  that  is — I've 
often  done  it  myself.  Nothing  like  the  crisp  night  air  for 
taking  that  boiling  blood  out  of  a  fellow's  brain  and  send 
ing  it  over  his  body,  where  it  belongs.  May  I  walk  with 
you?  I'm  still  abnormally  keyed-up  myself  over  that 
play  of  yours.  No  wonder  you  can't  settle  to  sleep." 

Well,  Gary  couldn't  get  away,  and  he  knew  he  couldn't. 
As  well  try  to  escape  an  officer's  handcuff  if  he  had  been 
caught  stealing  as  that  kind,  inexorable  offer  of  comrade- 


"BURN,  FIRE,  BURN!"  151 

ship  through  his  temptation.  He  knew  Black  well  enough 
by  now  to  know  that  his  standing  by  meant  that  he  simply 
wouldn't  let  Gary's  temptation  have  a  chance — it  might 
as  well  slink  away  and  leave  him,  for  it  couldn't  get  to 
him  past  Robert  Black's  defense. 

Quite  possibly  neither  of  these  two  ever  could  have  told 
how  many  miles  they  walked  that  icy  winter's  night,  but 
walk  they  did  till  every  drop  of  Gary's  hot  blood  was 
rushing  healthily  through  his  weary  body,  and  the  fires 
in  his  brain  had  died  the  death  they  must  inevitably  die 
under  such  treatment.  They  walked  in  silence  for  the 
most  part.  Gary  wasn't  angry,  even  at  the  first — he  was 
ashamed,  disappointed — but  not  angry.  How  could  he 
be  really  angry  with  a  man  who  loved  him  enough  for  this? 
And,  deep  down  in  his  heart,  presently  he  was  glad — 
glad  to  be  saved  from  himself.  Was  it  for  the  man  who 
had  written  that  splendid  play  to  take  it  out  in  the  old 
degradation;  was  it  for  him  who  had  made  Truth  shine  in 
an  embodiment  of  loveliness  to  drag  its  creator  in  the 
mire  on  this  same  night  that  his  friends  had  looked  upon 
his  work  and  declared  that  it  was  good  ?  When  at  last  he 
stumbled  wearily  along  the  little  street  again,  with  a  stum 
bling  that  was  no  feigning  this  time  but  the  genuine  sign 
of  a  fatigue  so  overpowering  that  sleep  was  almost  on 
its  heels,  he  was  thankful  to  this  strange  and  comprehend 
ing  friend  as  he  had  never  been  thankful  to  him  before. 

"Good-night,  Ray,"  said  Robert  Black,  at  the  shop 
door,  and  under  the  street-light  Gary  saw  the  smile  that 
had  come  to  mean  more  to  him  to-night  than  it  ever  had 
before — and  it  had  meant  much  already. 

"Do  you  trust  me  now?"  Gary  met  the  dark  eyes 
straightforwardly  at  last. 

"Absolutely.     I  trusted  you  before.     It  was  the  over- 


1 52  RED  AND  BLACK 

strained  nerves  and  brain  I  was  anxious  for,  because  I've 

had  them  many  a  time  myself.     They're  hard  to  manage. 

Taking  them  to  walk  is  just  good  medicine,  that's  all. 

You'll  sleep  like  a  top,  now." 

"And  you're  sure  I  won't  slide  out,  when  you're  gone?" 
Black's  hand  gripped  Gary's.  "  I'd  stake  my  life  on  it." 
Gary  choked  a  little  as  he  returned  the  grip.  "You 

don't  need  to.    I'd  prefer  to  stake  mine."    Then  he  bolted, 

and  the  shop  door  closed  behind  him. 

Black  looked  up  at  the  wide-open  window  over  the  shop 

he  knew  was  Jane's.     "Sleep  well,  my  friend,"  he  was 

thinking.     "I  told  you  I'd  stand  by  you — to  the  limit." 


CHAPTER  X 

'A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS 

LOCKHART  emerged  from  the  stage  dressing- 
room  in  the  uniform  of  a  French  soldier,  his  face  made 
up  with  paint  and  powder  and  crayon  to  indicate  that  he 
was  in  the  final  stages  of  suffering  from  gunshot  wounds. 
His  head  was  bandaged,  his  clothes  were  torn,  but  he  gave 
the  lie  to  these  signs  of  disaster  by  dashing  up  the  stairs 
and  into  the  wings  of  the  stage  with  the  lusty  action  of 
perfect  health  and  a  great  zest  for  his  part. 

Behind  the  big  curtain  he  found  all  the  actors  in  Gary's 
play  assembled — except  one.  The  star — everybody  had 
taken  to  calling  Fanny  Fitch  the  star  throughout  the  re 
hearsals — was  still  missing,  quite  after  the  manner  of  stars. 
It  was  yet  early,  and  the  audience  in  front  was  but  half 
assembled,  but  Gary  had  laid  great  stress  upon  every 
body's  being  ready  and  in  the  wings  before  the  curtain 
should  rise.  He  had  small  faith  in  amateur  call  boys  and 
prompters,  and  the  action  of  the  play  was  to  take  place 
so  rapidly  that  nobody  could  be  permitted  to  linger  in  a 
dressing-room  once  the  piece  was  on. 

Gary  greeted  Tom  as  a  laggard.  Gary  himself  was  a 
French  officer — and  looked  the  part  to  the  life;  but  he  was 
also  a  stage  manager  of  martinet  qualities. 

"About  time,  you  boy!  Where's  Miss  Fitch?  Go 
back  and  get  her.  Hustle!"  The  whisper  hissed  above 
the  tuning  of  the  orchestra. 

153 


154  RED  AND  BLACK 

Tom  sped  back  downstairs.  Red  Pepper  Burns,  in  the 
dress  of  an  operating  surgeon  soiled  and  gory,  his  face  made 
up  to  show  lines  of  fatigue,  commented  in  Nan  Lockhart's 
ear:  "Trust  Fanny  to  play  the  part  off  stage  as  well  as 
on.  Presume  she's  reckoning  on  holding  everything  up 
till  she  gets  here?" 

Nan  frowned.  "You  never  do  her  justice,  Doctor 
Burns.  Fanny's  a  born  actress,  why  shouldn't  she  have 
the  little  sins  of  one?  But  she's  going  to  surprise  you  to 
night.  She  really  can  act,  you  know.  She's  been  only 
walking  through  rehearsals." 

"All  right — but  she'll  have  to  get  a  lot  more  punch  into 
her  work  than  I  can  believe  her  capable  of.  Speaking 
of  punch — I  haven't  much  left  myself  to-night,"  growled 
Red.  The  fatigue  suggested  by  the  lines  upon  his  face 
had  |been  easy  to  lay  on,  by  the  make-up  man  downstairs, 
who  had  had  only  to  intensify  those  already  there.  As 
might  easily  have  been  prophesied  by  those  who  knew  his 
life  intimately,  Red  had  just  had  a  week  of  infernally  hard 
work  in  the  operating  room,  and  was  much  fitter  for  a  good 
night's  sleep  than  for  playing  the  part  of  a  first  line 
surgeon  on  the  French  front. 

Robert  Black,  in  the  wings,  was  keeping  in  order  a  little 
group  of  children  who  were  representing  Belgian  orphans — 
proteges  of  an  Englishwoman  who  had  come  to  France 
to  help  look  after  the  refugees.  Nan  Lockhart  had  this 
part;  it  fitted  her  beautifully.  Jane  Ray  was  the  Red 
Cross  nurse  in  charge  at  the  clearing  station;  her  white 
uniform  and  glowing  red  veil  brought  out  her  dusky  beauty 
of  colouring  strikingly.  Three  young  American  ambulance 
drivers — of  whom  Harry  Perkins,  the  young  usher  at 
the  Stone  Church,  was  one — stood  together  in  the  wings, 
commenting  favourably  upon  Miss  Ray.  Altogether,  no* 


A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS  155 

body  was  really  doing  anything  but  waiting  when  Tom- 
Lockhart,  grinning  joyously  through  his  queerly  contrast 
ing  pallid  make-up,  at  last  followed  Fanny  Fitch  upon 
the  stage. 

She  had  refused  to  dress  for  the  dress  rehearsal  of  the 
preceding  evening,  explaining  that  her  costume  was  as  yet 
in  the  making.  She  had,  quite  as  Nan  had  said,  "walked 
through"  her  part  and  rather  languidly,  at  that,  in  the 
street  attire  in  which  she  had  come  to  the  little  theatre 
which  was  the  suburban  town's  pride.  So  now,  quite 
suddenly  and  startlingly,  appeared  to  the  view  of  her 
fellow  actors  the  French  actress  of  music-hall  fame  whom 
Fanny  was  to  represent  in  the  part  which  Gary,  the  mo 
ment  he  had  set  eyes  upon  her — and,  he  might  have  added, 
found  her  eyes  upon  him — had  declared  would  fit  her  like 
a  glove.  As  Red  and  Ellen  and  Gary  Ray  and  Robert 
Black  now  beheld  the  dazzling  figure  before  them,  there 
could  be  no  question  in  their  minds  that  if  Miss  Fitch 
could  act  the  part  as  she  now  looked  it,  there  would  be 
nothing  left  to  be  desired.  As  for  young  Tommy  Lock- 
hart,  he  was  clearly  quite  out  of  his  head  with  a  crazy 
admiration  which  he  did  not  even  attempt  to  disguise. 
What  was  the  use?  And  must  not  all  men  be  one  with 
him  in  adoring  this  radiant  creature? 

Fanny  was  a  vision — there's  no  use  denying  it.  All 
that  fairness  of  feature  and  provocation  of  eye  enhanced 
by  the  cleverest  art  of  the  make-up  box,  and  set  off  by 
daring  line  and  colour  of  gown,  could  do  to  make  her  won 
drous  to  look  upon,  had  been  achieved.  All  that  a  deep 
excitement,  a  complete  confidence  in  what  her  mirror  had 
told  her,  a  surety  of  at  least  a  measure  of  real  histrionic 
power,  could  give  in  aid  of  the  finished  effect,  was  there. 
But  as  she  came  very  quietly  upon  the  stage  there  was 


156  RED  AND  BLACK 

nothing  at  all  in  her  bearing  to  indicate  that  she  thought 
herself  a  form  of  delight,  rather  did  she  suggest  that  she 
was  dreading  her  difficult  role,  and  not  at  all  confident 
that  she  could  hope  even  to  please  the  eye.  Tom,  indeed, 
could  have  sworn  that  this  was  so.  Had  he  not  held  a 
brief  but  satisfying  dialogue  with  her  on  the  way  upstairs? 

"Oh,  Tom!"  she  had  called,  "is  it  really  time  to  go  on? 
I'm  so  frightened!  Do  you  suppose  I  can  ever  do  it  as 
Mr.  Ray  wants  it  done? 

Tom,  gazing  his  eyes  out  at  her  lovely  shoulders,  as  she 
preceded  him  along  the  narrow  corridor  to  the  stairs, 
keeping  her  scarlet  silken  skirts  well  away  from  the  walls — 
he  helped  her  solicitously  in  that — answered  in  eager  as 
surance:  "Why,  of  course  you  can!  And — my  word! — 
looking  at  you  would  be  enough,  if  you  couldn't  act  at  all. 
My  word!  I  never  saw  you " 

"Oh,  but  Tom,  looking  a  part  is  nothing — and  I'm  not 
even  sure  I  can  do  that.  But  acting  it!  That's  another 
story.  And  you're  so  wonderful  in  yours " 

"Me?    Why,  I  just  have  to  die!    That's  easy!'* 

"But  you  do  it  so  realistically — you're  absolutely  true 
to  life.  When  I  bend  over  you — yes,  I  do  feel  that  you're 

actually  my  brother,  and  my  heart Well,  if  that  can 

help,  you  do  help  me.  And  I'll  do  my  best.  But — I'm 
simply  scared  to  pieces.  Feel  my  hand,  it's  freezing!" 
She  stretched  back  one  bare  arm,  and  Tom  willingly  caught 
her  hand  in  his.  His  own  was  so  cold  it  is  doubtful  if  he 
could  have  detected  chill  in  hers,  but  he  held  it  fast,  chaf 
ing  it  in  both  his  own,  and  murmuring  tenderly:  "You'll 
be  all  right,  I  know  you  will.  Why,  you'll  have  the  aud 
ience  from  the  minute  you  go  on — they  can't  get  away 
from  you — any  more  than  I  can!"  The  last  was  a  whisper. 

Fanny  turned.     They  were  at  the  top  of  the  stairway 


A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS  157 

now,  with  the  wings  close  at  hand.  "Tom,  tell  me!  Do 
you  really  think  I  can  do  it?  Will  you  just  keep  thinking 
about  me  every  minute  while  you're  lying  there?"  She 
pressed  one  hand  over  her  heart  with  a  little  gesture  of  fear 
which  simply  finished  Tom.  "Oh,  if  it  would,  stop  beat 
ing  so  fast " 

Tom  slipped  his  arm  about  her  shoulders.  "Don't 
be  afraid,  dear,"  was  what  he  began  to  say.  But  she 
was  away  from  him  in  an  instant,  and  he  could  only  recall 
with  tingling  pulses  that  instant's  touch  in  which  at  least 
two  of  his  fingers  had  come  into  fleeting  contact  with  the 
satiny  bare  arm.  The  next  minute  he  had  rallied  and 
rushed  after  her  upon  the  stage,  to  watch  with  a  jealous 
pleasure  the  looks  which  fell  upon  her  from  all  sides. 

At  sight  of  the  "star"  Gary  Ray  came  forward.  All  he 
said  was,  "I'm  mighty  glad  you're  here,  Miss  Fitch. 
Real  actresses  never  can  be  depended  upon,  you  know — 
and  you  certainly  look  temperamental  enough  to  give 
your  stage  manager  some  trouble!"  But  his  eyes  and  his 
smile  said  that  he  was  well  satisfied  with  her  as  a  member 
of  his  caste,  and  that  as  a  girl  of  his  acquaintance  he  was 
immensely  glad  he  knew  her.  There  was  promise  in 
Gary's  look  as  well.  All  Fanny  had  to  do  now  was  to  play 
that  part  as  she  knew  she  could  play  it,  and  Gary  Ray 
would  fall  before  her.  Going  out  to  take  a  drink,  after 
the  play  should  be  over — the  thing  he  would  naturally 
want  most  to  do — would  pale  into  insignificance  before 
the  stimulus  she  could  offer  him,  if  she  but  let  him  take 
her  home  and  come  in  for  an  hour's  talk  and  coffee  by  the 
fire. 

But  Tom  Lockhart  and  Gary  Ray  were  not  the  'stakes 
for  which  Fanny  Fitch  meant  to  play  that  night.  There 
was  a  tall  figure  in  the  wings  of  which  she  was  well  aware, 


158  RED  AND  BLACK 

and  though  she  did  not  look  toward  it  she  was  very  sure 
that  Robert  Black  was  watching  her.  How,  indeed,  could 
he  do  anything  else?  Belgian  orphans,  ambulance  drivers, 
French  officers,  Englishwomen,  Red  Cross  nurses — how 
could  they  all  be  anything  but  a  background  for  the  lovely 
"star?"  Does  not  the  eye  watch  the  point  of  high  light 
in  any  scene  ? 

And  then  they  were  all  in  their  places.  Cary  rushed  about 
giving  last  warnings,  the  orchestra  music  dropped  to  a  low 
murmur  of  mystery,  and  the  curtain  rose.  Black,  with 
a  last  word  to  the  waiting  children,  slipped  out  of  the  wings, 
down  the  stairs,  up  through  the  orchestra  door,  and  into 
a  seat  held  for  him  by  a  group  of  young  men  who  were 
now  his  special  friends.  It  was  Gary's  expressed  wish  that 
he  should  see  the  play  from  the  front,  and  then  come  back, 
with  the  falling  of  the  curtain,  to  tell  the  amateur  actor- 
manager  how  it  had  gone. 

No  need  to  relate  the  whole  story  of  the  play.  It  is 
not  with  the  stage  performance  that  we  are  most  con 
cerned,  but  with  that  other  play,  quite  out  of  sight  of  the 
audience  in  the  little  theatre  that  night,  which  is  to  us 
more  interesting  than  the  scenes  they  acted  behind  the 
footlights.  The  stage  play  dealt  with  one  of  those  thrill 
ing  situations  with  which  we  have  all  since  then,  through 
printed  page  and  photograph  and  drama,  become  familiar. 
We  know  now  how  those  who  went  across  to  help,  months 
— a  year — two  years — before  America  came  into  the 
war,  felt  about  us  who  lagged  behind.  The  young  Amer 
ican  ambulance  drivers  who  left  their  colleges  and  rushed 
over  because  they  couldn't  stand  it  that  we  weren't  re 
membering  our  debt  to  France,  and  who  threw  themselves 
and  all  they  had  to  give  into  the  breach,  angry  and  proud 
and  absolutely  forgetful  of  self,  just  to  do  their  little  part — 


A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS  159 

these  had  Gary  pictured  in  his  play,  chafing  with  impa 
tience  because  they  couldn't  make  all  America  understand 
and  care.  The  American  girl  whose  schooldays  had  been 
spent  in  Paris,  who  had  many  friends  there,  and  who 
wanted  to  put  aside  everything  promised  her  at  home  and 
go  back  to  the  country  she  had  learned  to  love,  to  nurse 
the  Frenchmen  who  since  the  war  began  had  taught  her 
what  true  gallantry  might  be — Gary  had  sketched  her  in 
his  rarest  colours,  a  thing  of  beauty  and  of  love,  her  heart 
as  tender  as  her  spirit  was  dauntless. 

There  was  the  American  surgeon,  come  over  at  first 
because  he  wanted  to  study  the  methods  of  the  French 
and  English  surgeons,  but  staying  out  of  sheer  pity,  and 
grimly  working  now  to  the  last  limit  of  his  endurance, 
unwilling  to  desert  while  the  need  was  so  great,  calling 
with  every  eloquent  word  he  could  find  time  to  write  back 
to  his  brothers  in  the  profession  to  come  and  help  him  stay 
the  flood  of  suffering.  Drivers  and  nurses  and  doctors — 
these  were  the  characters  whom  Gary  had  chosen  with 
which  to  make  his  appeal  to  the  laggard  nation  of  us  at 
home. 

The  Englishwoman,  the  Belgian  mother  with  her  little 
starving  children,  the  French  officer,  the  dying  French 
poilu — these  were  the  foils  for  the  actress,  torn  from  her 
stage  by  a  message  brought  by  one  of  the  American 
ambulance  men  to  the  hospital  that  her  brother  was 
passing.  It  was  her  part  to  create  the  scene  with  which 
to  stir  the  blood,  hers  to  cry  to  the  French  officer:  "Why 
are  the  Americans  not  here  to  prevent  his  dying?  Did 
not  our  Lafayette  and  his  men  go  to  them  at  their  call? 
Does  America  owe  us  nothing,  then?  See,  he  is  only  a 
boy — too  young  to  die!  Could  they  not  have  made  it 
impossible?" 


160  RED  AND  BLACK 

Well,  Fanny  did  it  gloriously.  All  that  had  gone  before 
led  up  to  her  entrance,  her  gorgeous  fur-lined  cloak  slipping 
from  her  shoulders,  her  eyes  imploring  surgeon  and  nurses 
to  say  that  the  boy  was  not  yet  gone.  When  she  fell  upon 
her  knees  beside  the  cot  where  lay  the  limp  figure  of  the 
brother  she  was  a  figure  to  draw  every  eye  and  thought. 
All  the  colour,  all  the  light  of  the  scene  seemed  to  centre 
in  her,  the  bare  hospital  ward  and  the  people  in  it  turning 
instantly  to  a  dull  background  for  her  extravagant  beauty, 
her  enchanting  outlines,  her  anguish  of  spirit,  her  heroic 
effort — after  that  one  accusing  cry — at  composure.  It 
was  impossible  not  to  say  that  here  was  amateur  acting 
of  a  remarkable  and  compelling  sort.  If  the  pounding 
heartbeats  of  the  supposedly  dying  soldier  under  his  torn 
uniform  might  have  been  taken  as  an  index  of  the  pulses 
of  the  audience,  the  general  average  must  have  been  that 
of  high  acceleration  under  the  spell  of  Gary's  art  and 
Fanny's  cleverness. 

Could  it  be  called  more  than  cleverness?  Robert  Black 
was  wondering,  as  he  watched  her  from  down  in  front. 
Of  course  he  watched  her,  he  would  have  been  hardly 
human  if  he  had  not,  or  if  he  had  not  also  come,  for  the 
moment,  at  least,  under  her  spell.  Cleverness  or  real 
dramatic  power — it  was  difficult  to  judge,  as  it  is  always 
difficult  when  the  eyes  are  irresistibly  attracted  by  fas 
cination  of  face  and  form.  In  her  dress  Fanny  had  copied 
to  the  life  the  extravagantly  revealing  outlines  of  a  certain 
daring  and  popular  vaudeville  actress.  When  Nan  Lock- 
hart  had  suggested  that  for  the  conservative  American 
suburb  a  trifle  less  frank  a  showing  might  be  better  taste 
Fanny  had  laughed  and  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  said 
she  didn't  intend  to  spoil  the  part  by  prudery.  She  vowed 
that  Gary  Ray  was  the  sort  who  would  be  furious  with 


A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS          161 

her  if  she  came  to  his  stage  looking  like  a  modest  maiden 
on  her  day  of  graduation  from  school!  "He's  no  infant 
prodigy,"  she  had  added,  "he's  a  full-grown  man-genius, 
and  I'm  going  to  play  up  to  him.  Just  watch  me  get 
away  with  it!" 

She  was  getting  away  with  it.  Even  Nan — who  had 
wanted  to  shake  her  from  the  moment  of  her  first  entrance 
with  that  effect  of  being  shyly  reluctant  to  appear  at  all — 
had  to  admit  that  Fanny  had  the  audience  in  the  hollow 
of  her  pretty  hand,  not  to  mention  the  male  portion  of  her 
fellow  actors,  and,  yes,  even  herself,  as  well.  It  was  im 
possible  for  Nan  not  to  be  fond  of  Fanny,  and  to  forgive 
her  many  of  her  sins,  because  of  her  personal  charm  and  her 
originality  of  speech  and  action.  Whatever  else  she  was, 
no  doubt  but  Fanny  was  always  interesting.  Generous 
Nan  was  more  than  glad  to  have  her  friend  distinguish 
herself  to-night,  and  looked  on  from  her  own  unexacting 
role,  with  a  full  pride  in  Fanny's  achievement. 

There  arrived  a  moment  in  the  play,  however,  when  to 
the  discerning  there  came  a  sudden  shifting  of  the  honours. 
It  was  almost  at  the  last,  when  the  scourging  indictment 
of  the  French  actress  had  reached  its  height.  It  was  then, 
when  the  silence  following  her  bitter  cry  had  continued  till 
it  had  become  painful,  that  the  ambulance  drivers  and 
the  surgeon  and  nurse  one  by  one  came  forward,  till  they 
had  surrounded  the  weeping  Frenchwoman.  Then  the 
nurse  touched  her  on  the  shoulder: 

"Madame,"  she  said,  "see.     We  are  Americans!" 

The  actress  looked  up.  The  youngest  of  the  drivers 
was  bending  a  little  toward  her — a  tall,  slim  boy,  with  his 
left  sleeve  torn,  a  long  cut  down  his  cheek. 

"It's  a  damned  shame!"  he  said. 

.The  other  drivers  clenched  their  fists,  murmuring  fierce 


162  RED  AND  BLACK 

assent.  The  surgeon  drew  his  hand  across  his  tired  eyes — 
one  could  see  that  they  were  blurred.  The  nurse,  her  eyes 
deep  and  wonderful  with  pity,  put  her  arm  about  the  bare, 
shaking  shoulders: 

"America  will  come,"  she  said — and  her  eyes  seemed 
to  look  across  the  sea.  "She  must  come — and  when  she 
does " 

"Too  late — for  him!"  The  actress's  hand  pointed  ac 
cusingly  at  the  still  form  on  the  cot. 

"Yes,  too  late  for  him.  Too  late  for  much — but  not 
too  late  for  all.  Meanwhile,  Madame — we  are  here — 
and  we  care!" 

"  You  bet  we  do ! "     It  was  the  youngest  driver. 

"Your  brother  was  a  peach  of  a  chap,"  declared  another, 
and  gently  the  audience  down  in  front  smiled  while  it  wiped 
its  eyes. 

"A  peasch  ? "     Fanny's  little  puzzled  accent  was  perfect. 

"A  hero,  Madame — the  bravest  of  the  brave, "  the  nurse 
explained. 

"Then — I  am  content!"  The  gesture  was  superb. 
The  glittering  eyes  of  the  actress  looked  out  over  the 
audience,  then  lowered  suddenly,  to  rest  for  one  instant 
on  Robert  Black.  It  was  an  error,  and  a  fatal  one,  if  to 
nobody  but  him.  Up  to  that  moment  she  had  had  him — 
at  that  moment  she  lost  him  as  an  enthralled  spectator. 
The  little  self-conscious  action  broke  the  spell  she  had 
woven.  His  gaze  left  her  and  rested  upon  Jane.  And 
there  it  found — what  made  him  say  to  himself,  suddenly 
enraged  with  his  own  lack  of  discrimination: 

"Have  I  forgotten  to  watch  you — in  watching  her? 
Shame  on  me!  She's  only  acting.  You  are — real!" 

His  eyes,  through  the  remaining  moments  of  the  play, 
never  again  left  Jane.  Now  that  the  dazzling  light  no 


A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS  163 

longer  blinded  his  vision  he  could  see  the  beauty  which  had 
needed  neither  over-enhancing  make-up  nor  ravishing 
costume  to  set  it  forth.  In  the  plain  white  of  the  nurse's 
dress,  with  the  nun-like  head-veil  so  trying  in  its  austerity, 
her  face  full  of  the  exquisite  compassion  which  is  the  hall 
mark  of  the  profession,  Jane  was  now  for  him  the  central 
figure.  And  when  the  actress  had  left  the  stage,  the  cot 
with  its  still  figure  had  been  removed,  and  the  five  Ameri 
cans  had  returned  for  their  final  scene,  the  simple  human- 
ness  of  it  somehow  "got  over,"  as  the  phrase  is,  so  com 
pletely  that  in  its  own  way  it  far  outshone  the  splendour 
of  the  tragedy  that  had  preceded  it.  And  this  was  the 
sure  mark  of  Gary's  art,  that  he  had  dared  to  close  with 
this. 

"The  thing  that  gets  me" — it  was  the  youngest  am 
bulance  driver  again — "is  how  the  devil  we're  ever  going  to 
make  'em  see  it  back  home — till  it's  too  late,  same  as  she 
said." 

The  tired  surgeon  lifted  his  head.  "I  would  go  home 
and  make  some  speeches,"  he  said,  "if  I  could  get  away. 
But  if  I  go — who'll  do  my  job  here?" 

"It  will  take  ten  men,"  said  the  nurse,  simply. 

He  looked  at  her,  and  his  grim  smile  touched  his  lips. 
"Twenty  nurses  to  fill  your  little  shoes,"  he  retorted. 

"Little  shoes?"  The  second  ambulance  driver  looked 
down  at  them.  "They  are  darned  little,  but  it  would  take 
twenty  nurses,  at  that!" 

"America's  got  to  come!"  spoke  the  third  driver — a 
fair-haired  boy  with  a  fresh,  tanned  face.  "Gee,  she's  got 
to  come,  or  I'll  turn  Frenchman,  for  one.  I  can't  stand 
it  any  longer.  Money  and  munitions — and  food — that's 
what  they  write — and  we  ought  to  be  satisfied.  Satisfied! 
Men — why  don't  they  send  men?  Why  don't  they  come' 


164  RED  AND  BLACK 

— millions  of  'em!  Oh,  it's  hell  to  have  to  be  ashamed  of 
your  own  country!" 

"She  will  come!"  It  was  the  nurse.  She  stood  up. 
Her  eyes  looked  out  again  across  the  seas.  "I  see  her 
coming."  She  stretched  out  her  arms.  Behind  her  the 
four  men,  the  tired  surgeon  and  the  boyish  ambulance 
drivers,  lifted  their  heads,  and  stretched  out  their  arms, 
too.  The  girl's  voice  rang  out : 

"O  America! — Come — before  it  is  forever  too  late!" 

The  curtain  fell.  A  murmur  came  from  the  audience — 
the  delayed  applause  rose,  and  rose  again  — then  died  away. 
People  got  up,  some  triumphant,  some  uncertainly  smiling, 
others  dark  of  brow.  The  young  men  beside  Black  were 
aflame  with  the  fire  of  that  last  challenge;  their  eyes  looked 
as  if  they  were  seeing  new  and  strange  things.  When  he 
could  get  away  from  them  Black  pulled  himself  together, 
dived  through  the  orchestra  door  and  came  upon  the 
stage.  He  went  first  to  Jane  Ray. 

"Will  you  let  me  take  you  home  when  you  are  ready?" 
he  asked,  very  low.  "I'll  tell  you — then." 

She  nodded  and  turned  away.  He  had  seen  her  eyes — 
they  plainly  showed  that  they  had  been  wet  with  tears. 

He  shook  hands  with  Gary  Ray,  who  smiled  at  him, 
and  spoke  rather  deliriously.  "We  put  it  over,  didn't 
we?  You  don't  have  to  tell  me.  I  can  read  the  human 
countenance.  Are  you  going  to  start  across  to-night — 
or  will  morning  do?" 

"You  gripped  us  all,  Gary.  Don't  expect  me  to  talk 
about  it — just  yet." 

"All  right — that's  enough.  Here's  the  girl  who  did 
the  trick."  And  he  put  out  his  hands  to  Fanny  Fitch. 

Only  Nan  could  have  told  how  Fanny  had  done  it,  but 


A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS  165 

somehow  already  she  had  managed  to  get  rid  of  so  much 
of  her  make-up  as  was  intended  to  reach  across  the  foot 
lights,  and  that  which  remained  was  not  so  perceptible 
that  it  made  her  look  the  painted  lady.  She  was  a  siren 
now,  was  Fanny,  and  a  dangerously  happy  one.  The 
effect  of  her  had  become  that  of  a  radiant  girl  who  enjoys 
a  well-earned  triumph,  of  which  the  great  masses  of  orchids 
and  roses  she  was  now  carrying  were  the  fitting  sign. 

"You  scored  a  great  success,"  said  Robert  Black.  He 
was  not  afraid  now  to  look  at  Fanny  at  close  range;  there 
had  been  one  moment  in  the  play  when  he  had  thought  he 
might  well  be  afraid,  realizing  acutely  that  he  was  only 
human,  after  all,  and  had  no  stronger  defenses  than  other 
men.  His  glance  met  hers  coolly.  "I  congratulate  you 
very  heartily." 

"Oh,  I'm  glad  you  liked  me,"  she  answered,  and  her 
voice  was  thrillingly  low.  "It  means  so  much  to  me — to 
please  you!  I  was  afraid  I  could  never  do  that — your  dis 
crimination  is  so  fine.  You  would  have  known  if  I  had 
not  really  felt  the  part.  I  did — it  seemed  to  me  I  simply 
lived  in  that  French  actress's  body.  It  was  a  tremendous 
experience  really.  I  can  never,  never  forget  it.'* 

"Wasn't  she  glorious?"  Gary's  tense  voice  broke  in. 
He  had  not  moved  away.  "I  believe  I  must  have  written 
the  thing  for  her  without  ever  having  seen  her.  But 
I've  seen  her  now!"  His  fiery  gaze  devoured  her,  his  thin 
cheek  flushed  more  deeply  than  before.  Suddenly  Black 
was  acutely  aware  of  a  new  source  of  anxiety  for  Gary. 
What  would  Fanny  Fitch  do  with  him,  he  wondered. 
"Listen,"  Gary  went  on  hurriedly.  "I'm  going  to  have  a 
bit  of  a  supper  over  at  the  hotel — this  event  has  got  to  be 
celebrated  somehow.  I've  had  Tom  telephone  over,  and 
they'll  get  a  few  eats  and  things  together  for  us  in  a  hurry. 


166  RED  AND  BLACK 

• 

Anyhow,  we  can  work  off  a  little  of  the  high  pressure  that 
way — and  it's  got  to  be  worked  off,  or  a  maniac  like  me 
can't  keep  his  head  till  morning.  You'll  join  us,  of  course, 
Mr.  Black?" 

"I'll  go  over,  and  take  your  sister,  but  I  can't  stay. 
You  won't  need  me — and  I  haven't  been  an  actor,  so  I'm 
naturally  not  in  on  it.  Thank  you  just  the  same,  Gary." 

"Sure  thing  you're  in  on  it — nobody  more  so — we  won't 
let  you  off.  Nail  him  for  me,  will  you,  Miss  Fitch?"  and 
Cary  rushed  away. 

"Why,  it  will  be  no  celebration  at  all  without  you!" 
breathed  Fanny  Fitch,  with  a  glance  which  would  certainly 
have  turned  Tom  Lockhart  crazy.  Black  felt  himself 
proof  against  it,  even  though  his  eyes  told  him  that  it  was 
worth  getting  if  a  man  had  a  taste  for  that  sort  of  thing. 
She  went  on  quickly:  "You  won't  make  us — I  don't 
mind  saying  you  won't  make  me,  personally — so 
unhappy?" 

"I'm  sure  you  won't  be  that,  Miss  Fitch,  with  all  your 
fellow  actors  to  tell  you  how  skillful  your  acting  was." 

"Skillful!    Oh,  but  I  don't  like  that  word!" 

"Why  not?     All  acting  means  skill,  doesn't  it?" 

"But — if  you  didn't  see  more  than  that  in  it — I  shall 
be  dreadfully  hurt,  Mr.  Black.  I  meant  to  put — my 
heart  into  it!  It  was  such  a  wonderful  play — it  deserved 
no  less  than  that,  did  it?" 

"No  less.     And  had  no  less  from  you  all,  I  think." 

"Oh,  they  were  all  splendid!"  agreed  Fanny,  rallying 
instantly  to  this  call.  "Miss  Ray  was  perfect,  especially. 
Of  course  she  had  the  glorious  advantage  of  the  last  word — 
and  how  effectively  she  used  it!  There  was  skill  for  you, 
indeed.  I  didn't  know  Miss  Ray  was  so  clever!" 

"That's  generous  of  you,"  said  Black — and  if  there  was 


A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS  167 

only  a  half- veiled  irony  in  his  tone  now,  Fanny  didn't 
recognize  it.  The  ambulance  drivers  were  hovering  close, 
waiting  for  their  chance.  Black  got  away  at  length,  and 
it  was  with  a  curious  sense  of  contentment  that  he  lis 
tened  to  something  Mrs.  Red  Pepper  Burns  was  saying 
as  he  passed  her:  "Each  one  took  his  or  her  part  tell 
ingly,  but  of  course  the  honours  rest  with  Miss  Ray. 
She  didn't  act,  she  was  that  American  girl  summoning 
us  all.  I  can  hear  that  last  call  yet!" 

"My  jolly,  so  can  I!"  Red's  lips  shut  together  in  a 
tight  line. 

Black  now  did  his  best  managing.  He  wasn't  specially 
good  at  it,  it  being  rather  a  new  part  for  him  to  play, 
where  women  were  concerned.  He  was  much  more  ac 
customed  to  maneuvering  to  escape  a  too  persistent  en 
couragement  of  his  society  than  deliberately  to  planning 
to  get  somebody  to  himself.  His  idea  just  now  was  that 
if  he  could  only  take  Jane  away  before  the  rest  had  started 
for  the  hotel,  a  few  blocks  down  the  street,  he  might  secure 
the  short  walk  with  her  alone.  He  had  discovered  that  it 
was  raining,  one  of  those  late  March  rains  which  melt 
the  lingering  snow  from  the  streets,  the  air  mild,  the  sug 
gestion  of  coming  spring  hinting  strongly  in  the  very  feel 
of  the  air.  Gary  was  announcing  that  motors  would  soon 
be  at  hand  to  take  everybody — he  wanted  them  all  to  re 
main  in  costume,  just  for  fun.  Black  must  be  quick  now 
if  he  would  secure  the  thing  he  found  he  wanted  very  much 
indeed. 

"Miss  Ray,  don't  you  want  to  walk  instead  of  ride? 
I  warn  you  that  it's  raining,  but  wouldn't  the  walk  be  good 
for  you,  after  all  this  heat  and  strain?" 

Jane  turned  to  him.  She  had  put  on  a  long  belted  coat 
over  her  white  uniform;  she  still  wore  her  nurse's  veil-cap. 


168  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  answered,  quickly.  "It's  just  what  I 
want  most." 

"Then  come — now,  if  you  can.  I'll  tell  Tom  to  explain 
to  your  brother.  He'll  forgive  us — he'll  forgive  anything 
to-night." 

They  slipped  away,  and  only  Red's  quick  eye  saw  them 
go.  He  said  nothing  to  anybody — why  should  he?  He 
knew  Robert  Black  too  well,  by  now,  not  to  understand 
why  he  felt  like  getting  away,  and  not  to  be  entirely  in 
sympathy  with  his  wanting  to  go  with  Jane  Ray.  He  felt 
like  that  himself — he  didn't  want  to  go  to  anybody's 
supper  party.  But  he  knew  that  Gary  must  be  allowed 
to  let  down  gradually  to-night,  and  he  knew  that  he  was 
the  one  to  stand  by,  as  he  meant  to  do.  Black  had  done 
it  far  oftener  than  he. 

Down  in  the  street,  with  the  first  touch  of  the  wet,  mild 
air  upon  her  hot  cheek,  Jane  drew  a  long,  refreshed  breath. 

"Oh,  that's  so  good,"  she  said. 

"Isn't  it?  Somehow  I  knew  it  was  what  you  needed 
after  that.  Do  you  know  what  you  did  to  us?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  did  to  anybody,"  she  said,  "ex 
cept  myself." 

"/  know." 

They  walked  in  silence,  after  these  few  words,  for  a  full 
block.  Black  held  the  umbrella  low — it  was  a  large  um 
brella,  and  sheltered  them  both  very  well.  He  had  offered 
Jane  his  arm — it  is  difficult  for  two  people  to  keep  suffi 
ciently  close  together  under  an  umbrella  not  to  get  wet 
unless  one  takes  the  other's  arm.  She  had  not  taken  it, 
but  she  had  gripped  a  fold  of  cloth  on  the  under  part  of 
his  sleeve,  and  this  held  her  securely  in  place.  He  could 
just  feel  that  slightest  of  contacts,  and  it  gave  him  an  odd 
sense  of  comradeship. 


A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS  169 

The  silence  was  grateful  to  them  both,  as  silence  may  be 
between  two  people  each  of  whom  understands  a  good 
deal  of  what  the  other  is  thinking.  When  Jane  broke  it, 
at  the  end  of  the  second  block,  it  was  with  an  unconscious 
security  that  she  could  go  on  from  where  she  had  left 
off,  without  explaining  the  gap. 

"I've  got  to  go,"  she  said,  in  a  tense  voice.  "I  knew 
that,  when  I  took  the  part,  or  I  couldn't  have  dared  to  take 
it." 

"I  knew  you  must  be  feeling  that  way.  I  understand. 
So  am  I." 

She  looked  up  quickly.     "Oh!     Shall  you  go?" 

"Of  course." 

"At  once?" 

"I  am  in  a  sense  bound  to  my  church — until  my  first 
year  here  is  up,  at  least.  It  will  be  up  in  April.  If  war 
isn't  declared  by  that  time  I  shall  go,  whether  the  church 
is  willing  to  send  me  or  not." 

"I  can't  wait,"  said  Jane,  "till  America  is  in,  unless  she. 
is  in  before  I  can  get  away.  Gary  can't,  either.  He  is 
going  to  try  to  get  a  berth  at  once,  as  correspondent  for  his 
old  paper.  He  has  sent  them  this  play — it  ought  to 
show  them  that  he  is — at  work  again  and  that — his  brain 
is  clear.  He's  physically  pretty  fit  now,  I  think." 

"That's  great.     And  how  will  you  go?" 

"I  don't  know  yet — I'll  find  a  way.  All  I  know  is,  I 
can't  stand  it  another  day  not  to  be  getting  ready. 
There'll  be  some  place  for  me — there  must  be." 

"I  don't  question  it."  He  looked  down  at  that  sweet, 
sturdy  profile  outlined  now  against  the  many  lights  of  the 
small  downtown  park  they  were  passing.  "Yes,  they'll 
find  a  place  for  you.  I  wish  I  could  be  as  sure  of  the  one  I 
•nrant." 


170  RED  AND  BLACK 

"You?"  Jane  looked  quickly  up  at  him,  and  their  eyes 
met.  "You  want  a  commission?" 

"Yes.     I  want  a  chaplaincy." 

"Oh!"  Her  tone  showed  deep  disappointment.  "I 
knew  you  were  all  on  fire  about  the  war,  but  I  did  think 
you " 

"Would  want  a  bigger  job  ?" 

"Yes!" 

"I  don't  know  of  any,"  he  said,  steadily. 

"How  can  you  feel  that  way — how  can  you?  A  chap 
lain  doesn't  bear  arms — doesn't  go  to  the  front — stays  in 

safe  places "  Her  fingers  let  go  of  his  sleeve,  she 

walked  alone. 

"The  sort  of  chaplain  I  mean,"  said  Black — with  a  bit 
ing  sense  of  injury  at  his  heart — "does  bear  arms.  He 
does  go  to  the  front.  He  never  stays  in  safe  places  if 
he  can  by  any  chance  get  out  of  them.  Will  you  please — 
take  that  back?  I  don't  think  I  can  bear  it — from 
you." 

She  looked  up  at  him  again,  and  again  he  looked  down 
at  her.  She  saw  the  pain  in  his  eyes,  saw  the  virility  in 
his  lean,  strong  face,  the  way  his  jaw  set  and  his  lips  com 
pressed  themselves  in  the  line  that  speaks  determination, 
and  was  ashamed — and  convinced. 

"I  take  it  back,"  she  said.  "You  couldn't  be  anything 
but  a  fighting  man  wherever  they  put  you.  I  ought  to 
know,  by  the  way  you  have  fought  for  my  brother.  For 
give  me." 

He  was  silent  for  a  minute.  Then  he  said  slowly: 
"The  next  time  you  come  on  a  list  of  citations  for  dis 
tinguished  bravery,  over  there,  would  you  mind  reading 
it  carefully?  And  when  you  come  to  a  chaplain's  name, 
notice  what  he  did  to  deserve  it.  That's  all  I  ask." 


A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS  171 

"I'm  sorry,"  Jane  said  softly.  "I  suppose  I  don't  know 
the  facts." 

"I  imagine  you  don't,  Miss  Ray." 

"You're  still  angry  with  me.     I  can't  blame  you. 

"I'm  not  angry.  But  I  do  care  that  the  splendid  fellows 
over  there  who  wear  the  cross  on  the  collar  of  their  tunic 
should  never  be  spoken  of  as  if  they  were  looking  for  safe 
places.  If  I  can  take  my  place  among  them  I'll  want  no 
higher  honour — and  no  more  dangerous  work  than  they 
take  upon  themselves." 

Jane's  fingers  laid  hold  of  the  fold  of  his  coat-sleeve 
again.  She  bit  her  lip.  Then  she  said  gently: 

"I  asked  to  be  forgiven.  Isn't  it  a  part  of  your  office 
to  forgive  the  repentant?" 

He  was  staring  straight  ahead,  and  this  time  it  was  she 
who  looked  at  a  profile;  stern  and  hard  she  thought  it  for 
a  minute.  Then  the  set  lips  relaxed,  and  a  deep  breath 
came  through  them.  "I  seem  to  care  too  much  what  you 
think,"  he  acknowledged.  "It  doesn't  matter,  I  suppose, 
what  you  do  think.  Never  mind." 

"  But  I've  apologized." 

"You  haven't  changed  your  feeling  about  it.  I'm  not 
looking  for  a  personal  apology.  It's  all  right.  Tell  me — 
when  do  you  think  you  can  get  off?" 

Jane  stopped  short.  The  pair  were  in  a  side  street, 
and  there  were  no  pedestrians  upon  it  within  a  considerable 
distance.  "Mr.  Robert  Black,"  she  said,  "I'll  not  go 
another  foot  with  you  till  you  are  friends  with  me  again." 

"Friends  with  you?"  He  seemed  to  consider  the  ques 
tion.  "Having  once  been  your  friend — how  can  I  ever 
be  anything  else — unless  you  tell  me  I  can't  be?  But 
even  friends  can — fail  to  see." 

"I  don't  fail  to  see.     I  see  very  clearly — quite  suddenly. 


172  RED  AND  BLACK 

And — if  we  are  both  going  over,  in  the  same  cause,  we 
must  keep  on  being  friends.  I  think — "Jane's  voice 
held  a  peculiar  vibration — "I  think,  before  I  am  through 
with  it,  I  may  be  very  glad  to  have — a  chaplain — for  a 
friend!" 

Robert  Black  looked  at  her  steadily  for  a  moment.  His 
lips  broke  into  a  smile;  she  could  see  his  splendid  white 
teeth  between  the  pleasant  lines.  "Ah,  you  do  make  full 

amends!"  he  admitted.  "I — shall  we "  Then  he 

glanced  up  and  down  the  street.  He  began  to  laugh. 
"Where  is  that  hotel?"  he  queried. 

Jane's  eyes  scanned  the  street  corners  ahead  and  be 
hind  them.  "I  think  we've  gone  by  it,"  she  said,  with 
mirth. 

"Then — let's  go  a  little  farther  by.  Do  you  mind? 
Mayn't  we  go  to  that  big  building  down  there,  before  we 
turn  around?  It's  not  raining  so  very  hard  now.  I  hate 
to  take  leave  of  you — just  yet.  It  seems  a  poor  place  to 
stop — when  we've  just  got  back  to — the  place  we  started 
at." 

"And  what  was  the  place  we  started  at?"  She  let  him 
take  her  forward  again.  He  was  walking  more  and  more 
slowly.  It  looked  as  if  a  good  deal  of  time  might  possibly 
be  consumed  before  they  should  reach  the  designated 
building  and  then  retrace  their  steps  to  the  patiently  wait 
ing  hotel. 

"The  place  where  we  were  both  going  to  war.  Do  you 
realize  what  a  meeting  ground  that  is?" 

She  nodded.  "It  is — quite  a  meeting  ground.  It 

seems  to "  she  hesitated.  He  repeated  the  words 

with  the  rising  inflection.  She  shook  her  head. 

"I  can  finish  it  for  you,"  he  said.  "It  seems  to — set  us 
apart,  just  a  little — from  the  rest.  At  least — till  they  say 


A  SHIFTING  OF  HONOURS^          173 

they  are  going,  too.  Some  of  them  will  say  that  very  soon. 
Till  they  do — do  you  mind  being — in  a  little  clear  space — • 
just  with  me — and  with  this  big  thing  ahead  to  talk  about 
together?" 

It  was  a  minute  before  Jane  answered.  When  she  did, 
it  was  in  the  frankest,  sweet  way  that  she  said  straight 
forwardly,  "No,  I  don't  mind,  Mr.  Black.  I  think  I — 
rather  like  it.  You  see,  you're  not — poor  company!" 

Though  they  went  on  from  there  on  that  note  of  frank 
friendliness,  finished  the  walk,  came  finally  to  the  hotel, 
parted  with  the  simplest  sort  of  comradely  good-night, 
there  could  be  no  question  that  the  bond  between  them, 
till  now  established  wholly  on  the  basis  of  Black's  friend 
ship  for  Gary,  had  become  something  which  was  from  Gary 
quite  apart.  Whatever  it  was,  it  took  Robert  Black  a 
good  three  miles  of  walking  alone  in  a  rain  which  had  all 
at  once  become  a  downpour  to  think  it  out,  and  wonder, 
with  a  quickening  of  the  pulses,  where  it  led. 


CHAPTER  XI 
A  LONG  APRIL  NIGHT 

LET  a  fellow  in?  Oh — sorry!  Did  I  wake  you  up?' 
Black  looked  up,  dazedly.  It  struck  him  that 
Red  didn't  appear  particularly  sorry,  in  spite  of  his  brusque 
apology.  The  red-headed  doctor  stood  just  within  the 
minister's  study  door,  bearing  all  the  appearance  of  one 
who  comes  on  the  wings  of  some  consuming  enthusiasm. 

Black  pushed  a  number  of  sheets  of  closely  written  paper 
under  a  convenient  magazine.  He  ran  his  hand  across 
his  forehead,  thrusting  back  dark  locks  more  or  less  in  dis 
array.  His  eyes  were  undeniably  heavy. 

"Come  in — do!     Have  a  seat.     Let  me  take  your  coat.'1 

"Thanks.  You  look  in  the  dumps.  Somebody  been 
flaying  you  alive?" 

Black  smiled  a  little  wanly.  "No.  I  rather  wish  they 
had.  It  might  give  me  something  to  think  about.  What 
is  it?  You  are  full  of  some  news — I  can  see  that.  Did 
you  do  me  the  honour  of  coming  to  tell  me  about  it?" 

Red  laughed.  "That's  like  you.  Anybody  else  would 
have  left  me  to  get  around  to  it  gradually,  if  he'd  even 
noticed  that  I  seemed  to  be  bursting  with  news.  Well,  I 
am.  And  I  had  to  blow  off  to  somebody  right  now.  Saw 
your  light  and  knew  you  were  mulling  over  some  self-ap 
pointed  task  at  this  unholy  hour.  Thought  it  would  prob 
ably  be  good  for  you  to  turn  your  attention  to  a  fellow* 
sufferer." 


A  LONG  APRIL  NIGHT  175 

Black's  sombre  eyes  rested  intently  on  Red's  face.  Red 
had  thrown  his  hat  upon  one  chair,  his  motoring  coat  upon 
another,  and  had  seated  himself  astride  of  a  straight  and 
formal  manse  chair,  facing  its  back.  His  face  was  deeply 
flushed;  his  eyes  held  all  manner  of  excited  lights. 

"You're  no  sufferer,"  was  Black's  decision.  "What  is 
it?  You're  not — off  for  the  war?" 

"You've  got  it.  That's  exactly  what  I  am.  Had  a 
cable  half  an  hour  ago  from  my  friend  Leaver  at  the  Amer 
ican  Hospital  at  N .  He  says  come  along  as  fast  as 

I  can  get  there.  He  can  use  me,  or  have  me  sent  to  the  front 
line,  as  I  prefer.  If  Jack  Leaver  says  come,  that  settles  it. 
I'll  go  as  quick  as  I  can  get  my  affairs  in  order,  take  my 
physical  tests,  have  my  inoculations,  and  put  through  my 
passports.  How's  that?" 

"It's  great.  Of  course  you'll  get  to  the  front  as  fast  as 
possible — I  know  you.  I  congratulate  you — heartily." 
Black  got  up  and  came  over,  his  hand  out.  Red  seized  it. 
He  hung  onto  it,  looking  up  into  Black's  face. 

"Come  on,  too!"  he  challenged. 

"I  wish  I  could.     I  can't — yet." 

Red  dropped  the  hand — or  would  have  dropped  it  if  it 
had  not  been  withdrawn  before  he  had  the  chance.  He 
scowled. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  can't  get  the  place  I  want  till  war  is  declared 
and  we  begin  to  send  men.  I'll  wait  for  that." 

"That  means  months,  even  if  Congress  loses  no  more 
time." 

"You  know  better.  Our  regulars  will  go  mighty  soon 
after  we  declare  war.  I'll  find  my  place  with  them." 

"And  what's  the  place  you  want?" 

Black  looked  at  him  steadily.     "You  know,  don't  you?" 


176  RED  AND  BLACK 

Red  nodded,  grimly.  "I  suppose  I  do.  Tom  told  me — 
but  I  wouldn't  believe  it.  Look  here,  man!  Give  up  that 
fool  notion  that  you've  got  to  stick  to  your  cloth,  and  go 
in  for  a  man's  job.  Come  over  with  me  and  enlist  in  one 
of  your  Scottish  regiments — that's  the  place  for  you. 
Then  you'll  see  the  real  thing.  You've  got  the  stuff  in 
you." 

Black's  face  was  going  slowly  white.  "  I'm  an  American. 
When  I  go  I'm  going  as  chaplain  of  an  American  regi 
ment." 

"Oh,  wnat  damned  rot!" 

Red  Pepper  Burns  was  powerfully  overwrought,  or  he 
wouldn't  have  said  it.  The  next  instant  he  realized  what 
he  had  said,  for  the  lithe  figure  before  him  had  straightened 
and  stiffened  as  if  Red  had  brought  the  flat  of  his  hand 
against  the  other  man's  cheek.  At  the  same  instant  a 
voice  cold  with  wrath  said  with  a  deadly  quiet  command 
in  the  ring  of  it:  "Take  that  back,  Doctor  Burns." 

"  I  take  back  the  word,  if  you  like — but  not  the  thought. 
I  can't  do  that.  A  chaplaincy  isn't  a  man's  job — not  a 
young  man's  job.  Plenty  of  old  priests  and  middle-aged 
parsons  to  look  after  the  dying.  A"  good  right  arm  like 
yours  should  carry  a  rifle.  I'd  rather  see  you  stay  out  of 
it  altogether  than  go  in  for  the  army-cut  petticoats  of 
your  profession." 

Then  indeed  Red  saw  a  strange  sight.  He  had  seen 
many  men  angry  in  his  time;  he  now  saw  one  angrier  than 
he  would  have  believed  possible  without  an  outburst  of 
profanity.  Black  grew  so  pale  he  might  have  been  going 
to  faint  if  the  glitter  in  his  black  eyes  hadn't  told  the  tale 
of  a  vitality  which  was  simply  taking  it  out  that  way  in 
stead  of  by  showing  red,  as  most  men  do.  He  opened  his 
lips  once  and  closed  them  again.  He  raised  his  right  hand 


A  LONG  APRIL  NIGHT  177 

and  slowly  clenched  it,  looking  down  at  it,  while  Red 
watched  him  curiously.  At  last  he  spoke,  in  a  strange, 
low  voice,  still  looking  at  that  right  hand  of  his: 

"I  never  wanted  anything  in  my  life  so  much  as  to 
knock  you  down — for  that,"  he  said;  and  then  his  eyes 
went  from  his  clenched  fist  to  look  straight  into  Red's. 

"Why  don't  you  do  it?  I  give  you  leave.  It  was  an 
insult — I  admit  it — the  second  one.  But  I  don't  take  it 
back.  It's  what  I  think — honestly.  If  you  don't  like  it, 
it's  up  to  you  to  prove  yourself  of  a  different  calibre." 

Red  still  sat  astride  of  his  chair,  watching  Black,  whose 
gaze  had  gone  back  to  that  right  hand  of  his.  He  opened 
and  closed  it  again — and  once  more,  and  then  he  spoke. 

"Doctor  Burns,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I  don't  think  I  have 
to  take  this  sort  of  thing  from  you — and  I  don't  think  I 
will."  He  walked  over  to  his  study  door,  opened  it,  and 
stood  there  waiting,  like  a  figure  cut  out  of  stone.  Red 
leaped  to  his  feet,  his  own  eyes  snapping. 

"By  jolly!"  he  shouted,  seizing  his  hat  and  coat.  "I 
don't  have  to  be  shown  the  door  twice!"  And  he  strode 
across  the  floor.  As  he  came  up  to  Black  the  two  pairs  of 
eyes  met  again.  Anything  sadder  than  the  look  now  in 
Black's,  overriding  his  anger,  Red  never  had  seen.  It 
almost  made  him  pause — not  quite.  He  went  along  out 
and  the  door  closed  quietly  behind  him. 

In  the  hall  a  plump,  middle-aged  figure  was  coming  to 
ward  him.  Anxiety  was  written  large  on  Mrs.  Hodder's 
austerely  motherly  face.  He  would  have  gone  by  her 
with  a  nod,  but  she  put  out  a  hand  to  stop  him,  and  spoke 
in  a  whisper: 

"I  hope,  Doctor,  you  cheered  him  up  a  little.  Poor 
man — I  never  saw  him  so  down." 

Red  grunted.     "No — I'm  afraid  I  didn't  cheer  him  up 


1 78  RED  AND  BLACK 

much,"  he  admitted,  gruffly.  "He  wasn't  in  any  mood 
to  be  cheered." 

"No,  indeed.  A  body  can't  get  over  such  news  as  he 
had  to-day  in  a  hurry.  He  hasn't  eat  a  mouthful  since  he 
heard." 

"What?"  Red  paused,  in  the  very  act  of  pushing  on 
past  her  detaining  hand.  "Bad  news,  you  say?" 

"Why,  yes — didn't  he  tell  you?  He  told  me.  Two  of 
his  sister's  sons  are  killed — and  she  only  had  three,  and  all 
in  this  awful  war.  Killed  almost  together,  they  were. 
He  showed  me  their  pictures — the  likeliest  looking  boys — 
one  looks  something  like  Mr.  Black  himself.  Why,  I 
can't  think  why  he  didn't  tell  you,  and  him  so  terrible  cut 
up  about  it." 

Red  wheeled,  and  looked  back  at  the  closed  study  door. 
He  looked  again  at  Mrs.  Hodder.  "I'm  glad  you  told  me," 
he  said  almost  under  his  breath.  "I  think  I'll — go  back." 

He  went  back,  pausing  a  minute  at  the  door  before  he 
opened  it.  Then  he  turned  the  knob  softly,  as  if  a  very 
sick  patient  were  lying  within.  He  went  in  noiselessly, 
as  doctors  do,  his  eyes  upon  the  figure  seated  again  at  the 
desk,  its  head  down  upon  its  folded  arms.  He  crossed 
over  to  the  desk,  and  laid  his  hand  on  Black's  right  arm. 

"  I'm  sorry,  lad,"  he  said.     "  I  didn't  know." 

Black  raised  his  head,  and  now  Red's  eyes  saw  what  they 
had  not  seen  before — the  ravages  of  a  real  grief.  The  red 
headed  doctor  was  the  possessor  of  rather  the  largest 
heart  known  to  man,  and  it  was  that  heart  which  now  took 
command  of  his  words  and  acts. 

"I  didn't  know,  Black,"  Red  repeated. 

"How  do  you  know  now?" 

"Mrs.  Hodder  told  me.  A  curse  on  me  for  hitting  you 
when  you  were  down." 


A  LONG  APRIL  NIGHT  179 

After  a  minute  Black's  hand  reached  for  the  thin  sheets 
of  closely  written  paper  which  he  had  pushed  under  the 
magazine  when  Red  had  first  entered.  He  looked  them 
over  rapidly,  then  pointed  to  a  paragraph.  Red  scanned 
it  as  quickly  as  the  unfamiliar  handwriting  would  permit. 
As  he  read  he  gave  a  low  ejaculation  or  two,  eloquent  of 
the  impression  made  upon  him. 

"You  may  be  proud  of  them,"  he  said,  heartily.  "And 
— they  were  of  your  blood.  I  don't  think  I  need  question 
its  virility.  I  guess  I'd  best  leave  it  to  you  to  decide  what's 
your  course — and  not  butt  in  with  my  snap  judgments." 

Black  looked  up.  "Thank  you,  Doctor  Burns,"  he 
said,  "for  coming  back." 

"Forget  what  I  said — will  you?" 

"I  don't  think  I  can — right  away.      It  doesn't  matter/' 

"It  does  matter — when  you're  down  and  out  with  get 
ting  a  letter  like  that.  If  I  hadn't  been  so  hot  with  my  own 
affairs  I'd  have  seen  for  myself  something'd  happened." 

"It's  all  right,  Doctor."  Black  rose  wearily.  "Some 
day  I'm  going  to  make  you  think  differently.  Until 
then — perhaps  we'll  do  better  not  to  talk  about  it.  I'm 
glad  you're  going — I  envy  you.  Let's  let  it  go  at  that, 
for  to-night." 

Red  held  out  his  hand.     "You'll  shake  hands?" 

"Of  course." 

Somehow  as  he  went  away  Red  was  feeling  sorrier  than 
he  would  have  believed  possible  that  anything  had  hap 
pened  to  make  that  handshake  what  he  had  felt  it — a 
purely  formal  and  perfunctory  one.  Why  had  he  said 
those  blamed  mean  things  to  Black  about  his  profession, 
he  wondered.  Confound  his  red  head  and  his  impudent 
tongue!  He  liked  Robert  Black,  liked  him  a  lot,  and  better 
and  better  all  the  time;  trusted  him,  too — he  realized 


180  RED  AND  BLACK 

that.  He  had  rushed  into  the  manse  study  to-night  from 
a  genuine  impulse  to  tell  his  good  news  to  the  man  from 
whom  he  was  surest  of  understanding  and  sympathy  with 
his  own  riotous  joy  over  his  great  luck  in  getting  the  chance 
to  go  across.  And  then  he'd  had  to  go  and  cut  the  fellow 
where  he  was  already  wide  open  with  his  own  private  sorrow! 
If  there  had  been  any  way  in  which  Red  could  have 
made  it  up  to  his  friend — yes,  Black  had  become  his  friend, 
no  doubt  of  it,  to  rather  an  unanticipated  degree — if  there 
had  been  any  way  in  which  he  could  have  made  it  up  to 
him,  taken  the  sting  out  of  the  hard  words,  and  sent  the 
"lad"  to  bed  feeling  that  somebody  besides  his  house 
keeper  cared  that  he  was  unhappy — well,  Red  would  have 
given  considerable,  as  he  went  away,  to  have  done 
that  thing.  But  there  wasn't  any  way.  There  hardly 
ever  is. 

If  he  had  known  just  what  he  left  behind  him,  in  that 
manse  study,  undoubtedly  Red  would  have  been  sorrier 
yet — if  he  could  have  fully  understood  it.  It  is  possible 
that  he  could  not  just  have  understood,  not  having  been 
made  of  quite  the  same  fibre  as  the  other  man.  What  he 
would  have  understood,  if  he  had  chanced  to  see  Black  at 
about  the  third  watch  of  the  night,  would  have  been  that 
he  was  passing  through  some  experience  more  tremendous 
than  that  which  any  loss  of  kin  could  possibly  have  brought 
him.  The  facts  in  the  case  were  that,  all  unwittingly,  Red 
Pepper  Burns,  with  a  few  hasty  words,  had  brought  upon 
Robert  Black  the  darkest  hours  he  thus  far  had  had  to  live 
through. 

It  tackled  him  shortly  after  Red  had  left — the  thought 
which  would  not  down — or,  rather,  the  first  of  the  two 
thoughts,  for  there  were  two  with  which  he  had  to  wrestle 
that  long  April  night.  It  leaped  at  him  suddenly,  that 


A  LONG  APRIL  NIGHT  181 

first  thought,  and  in  an  instant,  it  had  him  by  the  throat. 
Why  not  admit  that  Red  was  right,  that  the  average 
chaplaincy  in  the  army  or  navy  was  a  soft,  safe  job,  and 
not  an  honoured  one  at  all  ?  Why  not  let  everything  else 
go,  resign  his  church,  go  back  to  Scotland,  look  up  men 
of  influence  he  knew  there,  and  try  for  a  commission? 
Why  not  ?  Why  not Why  not? 

Would  that  mean  that  he  would  leave  the  ministry — 
permanently?  More  than  likely  it  would.  Well,  what  if 
it  did  ?  Could  anything  be  better  worth  doing  now  than 
offering  his  life  in  the  Great  War?  Why  stay  here,  preach 
ing  flaming  sentiment  to  a  congregation  who  mostly 
thought  him  overwrought  upon  the  whole  subject?  Why 
stay  here,  holding  futile  committee  meetings,  arguing 
ways  and  means  with  hard-headed  business  men  who 
were  everlastingly  thinking  him  visionary  and  impractical? 
Why  go  on  calling  on  old  ladies  and  sick  people — christen 
ing  babies — reading  funeral  services — marrying  people 
who  would  more  than  likely  be  better  single?  Why  go  on 
with  the  whole  round  of  parish  work,  he,  a  man  of  military 
age,  a  crack  shot — he  had  not  spent  all  those  years  in  the 
South  for  nothing! — possessed  of  a  strong  right  arm,  a 
genius  for  leadership — when  an  older  man  could  do  all 
these  things  for  these  people,  and  release  him  for  work  an 
older  man  couldn't  do?  And  if  he  were  free 

Yes,  it  was  here  that  his  second  temptation  got  in  its 
startling  work.  If  he  were  free — he  would  be  free  to  do 
as  other  men  did:  marry  a  wife  without  regard  to  her 
peculiar  fitness  to  be — a  minister's  wife!  It  wouldn't 
make  any  difference,  then,  if  she  never  went  to  church, 
had  no  interest  in  any  of  the  forms  of  religious  life,  didn't 
read  her  Bible — didn't  even  say  her  prayers  when  she  went 
to  bed — didn't  do  anything  orthodox — as  he  was  pretty 


1 82  RED  AND  BLACK 

sure  somebody  he  knew  didn't.  What  did  all  that  matter, 
anyhow,  so  her  heart  was  clean — as  he  knew  it  was! 

Black  pushed  his  revolving  chair  back  from  his  desk  so 
violently  that  it  nearly  tipped  over.  He  began  to  pace 
up  and  down  the  study  floor,  his  hands  shoved  deep  into 
his  pockets,  a  tense  frown  between  his  brows.  He  walked 
and  walked  and  walked,  getting  nowhere  in  his  mental 
discussion  precisely  as  he  got  nowhere  in  actual  distance 
with  all  that  marching.  And  suddenly  the  similarity 
between  the  two  processes  struck  him,  and  he  rushed  into 
the  hall,  seized  hat  and  coat,  put  them  on  as  a  man  does 
who  finds  himself  late  for  a  train,  and  let  himself  out  into 
the  April  night  where  the  air  was  heavy  with  a  gathering 
storm.  It  was  precisely  midnight  by  the  sounding  of  a 
distant  tower  clock  as  the  manse  door  closed  behind  him. 

Do  you  happen  to  know,  by  any  analogous  experience, 
just  what  sort  of  a  night  Robert  Black  spent,  alone  with 
himself?  If  you  do,  no  need  to  describe  it  to  you.  If 
you  have  never  wrestled  with  a  great  spiritual  temptation, 
beating  it  off  again  and  again  only  to  have  it  steal  up  and 
grip  you  more  powerfully  than  before,  then  you  can  have 
no  conception  of  what  that  night  brought  to  Black.  A 
concrete  temptation — one  to  steal  or  rape  or  kill — can  have 
no  comparison  in  insidiously  disarming  power  with  one 
made  up  of  forces  which  cannot  be  definitely  assigned  to 
the  right  side  or  the  wrong.  When  the  thing  one  wants  to 
do  can  be  made  to  seem  the  right  thing,  when  Satan  masks 
as  an  angel  of  light,  and  only  a  faint  inner  voice  tells  one 
insistently  that  his  premises,  his  deductions,  his  conclu 
sions,  are  every  one  false,  then  indeed  does  the  struggle  be 
come  a  thing  of  increasing  torture,  compared  with  which 
physical  distress  is  to  be  welcomed. 

It  was  four  in  the  morning  when  Black  let  himself  into 


A  LONG  APRIL  NIGHT  183 

tlie  manse  again,  the  light  in  his  study  seeming  to  him  the 
only  light  there  was  left  in  the  whole  world,  and  that  dim 
and  unilluminating  enough.  Outside  a  heavy  storm  of 
wind  had  disabled  the  local  electric  service,  and  the  streets 
for  the  last  two  hours  had  been  dark  as  Erebus — and  as 
Black's  own  thoughts.  He  had  been  grateful  for  that 
darkness  for  a  time;  then  suddenly  it  had  oppressed  him 
unbearably  and  he  had  fled  back  to  his  home  as  swiftly  as 
he  had  left  it.  There — there,  in  the  room  where  he  was 
used  to  think  things  out,  was  the  place  for  him  to  come  to 
his  decision. 

As  he  came  in  at  the  manse  door  the  lights  flashed  on 
again.  It  was  undeniably  warm  and  bright  there  in  his 
study,  but  his  heavy  heart  took  no  comfort  from  this. 
It  was  a  physical  relief  to  be  inside  out  of  the  storm,  but 
the  storm  in  his  soul  abated  not  a  jot  at  sight  of  the 
familiar  place.  The  very  look  of  the  study  table,  filled 
with  matters  of  one  sort  or  another  pertaining  to  his  work 
— his  writing  pad,  his  loose-leaf  note-book,  his  leather 
sermon-holder,  the  row  of  books  with  which  he  had  lately 
been  working  and  which  were  therefore  lined  up  between 
heavy  book-;nds  for  convenience  in  laying  his  hand 
upon  them — somehow  the  sight  of  these  gave  him  a  sense 
of  their  littleness,  their  futility,  compared  with  the  things 
he  had  been  seeing  as  he  walked.  A  rifle,  with  a  bayonet 
fixed  and  gleaming  at  its  end;  a  Scottish  uniform,  with 
chevrons  on  the  sleeve  and  insignia  on  the  shoulder — a 
worn,  soiled  uniform  at  that;  men  all  about,  real  men,  who 
did  not  fuss  over  trifles  nor  make  too  much  of  anything, 
men  with  whom  he  could  be  friend  or  enemy  as  he  desired 
— these  were  what  Black  saw.  He  saw  also  the  two  brave 
lads  who  had  gone  to  their  death,  his  own  blood,  who  had 
been  coming  over  shortly  to  follow  his  lead  in  the  big  coun- 


i84  RED  AND  BLACK 

try  where  he  had  found  room  to  breathe,  and  whose  un 
timely  end  he  longed  personally  to  avenge.  And  he  saw 
— Jane  Ray,  over  there,  herself  in  service,  meeting  him 
somewhere,  when  both  had  done  their  part,  and  joining 
her  life  with  his  in  some  further  service  to  mankind, 
social,  reconstructive,  unhampered  by  the  bonds  of  any 
religious  sect 

Oh,  well — perhaps  you  can't  see  or  feel  it — perhaps  to 
you  the  logical  thing  seems  the  very  thing  that  so  called 
to  Robert  Black.  Why  shouldn't  he  listen — why  shouldn't 
he  respond — why  wasn't  this  the  real  thing,  the  big  thing, 
and  why  shouldn't  he  dare  to  take  it,  and  give  God  thanks 
that  He  had  released  him  from  too  small,  too  cramped,  too 
narrow  a  place  of  usefulness,  into  one  which  was  bounded 
only  by  the  edges  of  the  great  world  of  need?  What 
was  it  that  held  him  back — that  so  hardly  held  him 
back? 

It  was  a  little  black-bound  book  which  first  began  to 
turn  the  tide.  It  was  lying  on  the  study  desk,  pushed  well 
back  under  some  loose  papers,  but  it  was  there  all  the  time, 
and  Black  never  once  lost  the  remembrance  that  it  was 
there.  Again  and  again  he  wished  it  were  not  there,  be 
cause  he  knew  through  it  all  that  he  could  never  settle  the 
thing  without  reference  to  that  little  worn  book.  It  was 
not  the  Bible,  it  was  a  ritual-book,  containing  all  the  forms 
of  service  in  use  in  the  Church  to  which  Black  belonged; 
it  held,  among  others,  the  service  for  the  ordination  of 
ministers,  and  that  very  book  had  been  used  in  the  ordina 
tion  of  Black  himself.  As  a  man  fighting  to  free  himself 
from  his  marriage  vows  might  struggle  to  turn  his  thoughts 
away  from  the  remembrance  of  the  solemn  words  he  had 
once  spoken,  so  did  Black,  in  his  present  mood,  strive  to 
forget  the  very  nearness  at  hand  of  that  little  book.  And 


A  LONG  APRIL  NIGHT  185 

yet,  at  last,  as  he  had  known  he  would,  he  seized  and 
opened  it.  After  all,  were  such  vows  as  he  had  made 
irrevocable?  Many  a  man  had  forsaken  them,  first  and 
last.  Had  none  of  these  deserters  been  justified? 

Yet,  as  he  went  over  and  over  it,  that  which  hit  him  so 
heavily  was  not  the  language  of  the  ordination  vows  which 
he  had  been  evading  and  which  now  struck  him  full  in 
his  unwilling  conscience,  gravely  binding  though  the 
phrases  were.  Nor  was  it  that  of  the  closing  prayer,  well 
though  he  remembered  how  the  words  had  thrilled  him, 
and  had  thrilled  him  ever  sifyce,  whenever  he  read  them 
over:  "Endue  him  with  spiritual  grace;  help  him  perform 
the  vow  that  he  has  made;  and  continuing  faithful  unto  death 
may  he  at  length  receive  the  crown  of  life  which  the  Lord, 
the  righteous  Judge,  will  give  him  in  that  day''  No,  it 
was  not  these  words  which  held  his  reluctant  gaze  fast  at 
last,  but  others,  which  he  had  written  into  the  small 
blank  space  at  the  top  of  the  page  whereon  the  service 
began. 

Two  years  before  he  had  had  sudden  and  unexpected 
word  of  his  mother's  death  on  Easter  Day — and  the  ap 
proaching  Sunday  would  be  Easter  again.  On  that  day, 
because  she  had  been  dear  to  him,  and  because  he  had  been 
across  the  seas  from  her,  he  had  written  upon  the  page 
a  renewal  of  his  ordination  vows.  When  he  had  been  a 
little  boy  she  had  told  him  that  some  day  she  wanted  him 
to  be  a  minister  of  the  Scottish  Church,  the  Free  Kirk  of 
Scotland,  in  which  she  had  been  brought  up.  It  had  hurt 
her  that  he  had  wanted  to  go  away  to  America,  and  though 
he  had  several  times  during  the  succeeding  years  crossed 
the  ocean  to  see  her,  she  had  never  quite  recovered  from 
the  disappointment.  On  a  strange  impulse,  that  Easter 
,  two  years  ago,  knowing  that  he  could  never  in  this 


1 86  RED  AND  BLACK 

world  see  her  face  again,  he  had  taken  up  his  pen  and 
written  upon  the  blank  space  these  words: 

BELOVED  MOTHER: 

This  is  the  most  precious  thing  I  have  in  the  world.  I  give  it 
to  you  this  Easter  Day  of  your  entrance  into  Heaven.  These 
words  were  used  at  my  ordination.  I  have  said  them  over  again 
to-day,  because  of  your  love  for  me,  and  my  love  for  you.  I  shall 
keep  them  always. 

ROBERT. 

These,  then,  were  the  irrevocable  words  he  could  not 
take  back.  He  had  vowed  to  his  God — he  had  promised 

his  mother How  shall  a  man  take  back  such  words? 

He  had  known  all  along  it  was  unthinkable  that  he  should, 
but  his  fight  had  been  none  the  less  tremendous  for  that — 
perhaps  the  more,  for  that.  The  tighter  one  feels  the 
bonds  that  bind  him,  the  harder  is  the  struggle  against 
them. 

Black  fell  upon  his  knees  before  the  old  red-cushioned 
rocker  which  still  held  its  place  among  the  more  dignified 
furnishings  of  the  study.  Somehow,  it  was  this  chair 
which  was  to  him  his  Throne  of  Grace.  He  had  not  yet 
given  up — it  seemed  to  him  he  couldn't  give  up — but  he 
had  come  to  this,  that  he  could  take  the  attitude  of  prayer 
about  it,  instead  of  striding  blindly  through  the  silent 
streets,  his  own  fierce  will  driving  him  on.  And  even  as 
he  knelt,  there  came  before  him  with  new  and  vivid  colour, 
like  a  fascinating  portrait  on  a  screen,  the  face  of  Jane  Ray. 
Thus  far,  to-night,  he  had  succeeded  mostly  in  keeping  her 
in  the  background,  at  least  till  he  should  have  decided  his 
great  question.  But  with  her  sudden  return  to  the  fore 
front  of  his  mental  images  came  a  new  and  startling 
thought :  "  If  you  went  as  she  wants  you  to  go,  you  might 


A  LONG  APRIL  NIGHT  187 

marry  her  before  you  went.  You  might  go  together. 
But  as  a  chaplain — you  can  only  be  her  friend.  Make 
love  to  her — wild  love,  and  take  her  off  her  feet!  Be 
human — you've  every  right." 

At  this  he  fairly  leaped  to  his  feet.  And  then  began 
the  very  worst  conflict  of  all,  for  this  last  thought  was  more 
than  flesh  and  blood  could  stand.  In  his  present  mood, 
the  exhaustion  of  the  night's  vigil  beginning  to  tell  heavily 
against  his  endurance,  he  was  as  vulnerable  as  mortal 
could  well  be.  Since  the  night  when  he  had  seen  Jane 
act  in  Gary's  play  and  had  taken  her  for  the  walk  in  the 
rain,  her  attraction  for  him  had  grown  apace.  He  had 
not  understood  quite  how  it  had  grown  till  Red's  words 
to-night  had  set  his  imagination  aflame.  The  vision  of 
his  going  soldiering  had  somehow  kindled  in  him  new 
fires  of  earthly  longing,  dropping  his  priesthood  out  of 
sight.  Now,  suddenly,  he  found  himself  all  but  a  lover, 
of  the  most  human  sort,  thinking  with  pulses  leaping  of 
marriage  in  haste,  with  the  parting  which  must  inevitably 
soon  follow  keying  the  whole  wonderful  experience  to  the 
highest  pitch.  It  was  the  sort  of  imagining  which,  once 
indulged  in  for  a  moment,  goes  flying  past  all  bounds  and 
barriers,  while  the  breath  quickens  and  the  blood  races, 
and  the  man  is  all  man,  with  other  plans,  other  hopes,  other 
aspirations  forgot,  in  the  rush  of  a  desire  so  overwhelming 
that  he  can  take  no  account  of  anything  else  in  heaven  or 
earth. 

Small  wonder,  then,  that  Black  should  find  he  must  have 
it  out  with  himself  all  over  again,  nothing  settled,  even 
the  little  black-bound  book  in  one  mad  moment  dropped 
into  a  drawer  and  the  drawer  slammed  shut.  Not  fair — 
not  fair — to  have  to  keep  that  book  in  sight!  God  Himself 
knew,  He  must  know,  that  when  He  made  man  he  made 


1 88  RED  AND  BLACK 

him  full  of  passions — for  all  sorts  of  splendid  things — and 
perhaps  the  greatest  of  these  were  war — and  love!  How 
should  a  man  be  satisfied  to  be — a  priest?  No  altar  fire 
could  burn  brightly  enough  for  him  to  warm  his  cold  hands. 
As  for  his  heart — it  seemed  to  him  just  then  that  no 
priest's  heart  could  ever  be  warm  at  all! 

Could  it  not?  Even  as  Black  raged  up  and  down  his 
room,  his  hands  clenched,  his  jaw  hard  set,  his  eyes  fell 
upon  a  picture  in  the  shadow — one  he  knew  well.  There 
had  been  a  time  when  that  picture  had  been  one  of  his 
dearest  possessions  and  had  hung  always  above  his  desk. 
When  he  had  come  to  his  new  church,  and  had  been  setting 
his  new  study  in  order,  Tom  had  helped  him  hang  his  few 
pictures.  It  had  been  Tom  who,  glancing  critically  at 
this  one,  and  seeing  in  it  nothing  to  himself  appealing — 
it  was  to  him  a  dim  and  shadowy  thing,  of  little  colour  and 
no  significance — had  hurriedly  placed  it  over  here,  in  this 
unlighted  corner.  Several  times  since  Black  had  noted  it 
there,  and  had  said  to  himself  that  it  was  a  shame  for  the 
beautiful  thing  to  be  so  obscured — he  must  remove  it  to 
a  better  place  and  light,  because  he  really  cared  much  for 
it.  But  he  had  been  busy — and  careless — he  had  not 
removed  it.  And  now,  suddenly,  it  drew  him.  He 
went  to  it,  took  it  from  the  wall,  went  over  to  the  desk 
light  with  it.  And  then,  as  he  looked,  once  again  the  mir 
acle  happened,  and  the  spirit,  the  spirit  which  God  Himself 
has  set  in  every  human  creature,  leaped  up  and  triumphed 
over  the  flesh,  and  Black's  fight  was  over — for  that  time. 
Not  over  forever,  perhaps,  but  over  for  that  time — which 
was  enough. 

Perhaps  you  know  the  picture — it  is  well  known  and 
much  loved.  A  great  cathedral  nave  stretches  away  into 
the  distance,  the  altar  in  the  far  background  streaming  with 


A  LONG  APRIL  NIGHT  189 

light,  the  choir  gathered,  the  service  on.  The  foreground 
of  the  picture  is  all  in  shadow,  and  in  the  depths  of  that 
shadow  kneels  one  prostrate  form  in  an  abandon  of 
anxiety  or  grief.  Behind  it,  unseen,  stands  a  wondrous, 
pitying,  strongly  supporting  figure  with  hand  outstretched, 
an  aura  of  light  about  it,  love  and  understanding  emanat 
ing  from  it.  Not  with  the  crowd  at  the  altar,  but  with 
the  lonely  human  creature  in  the  darkness,  lingers  the 
figure  of  the  Lord.  The  words  below  are  these:  "Z,o,  / 
am  with  you  alway,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world." 

Robert  Black  dropped  upon  his  knees  once  more  before 
the  old  red-cushioned  chair,  but  not,  now,  with  will  re 
bellious  against  a  too  hard  fate,  a  too  rigorous  necessity. 
The  old  loyalty,  at  sight  of  the  picture  which  in  past  days 
of  happy  faith  had  meant  so  much  to  him,  had  sprung  into 
life  again  as  a  flame,  quenched  but  not  put  out,  springs  as 
the  wind  fans  it.  A  sob  came  into  his  dry  throat,  his  head 
went  down  upon  his  folded  arms.  His  body  relaxed; 
after  a  minute  he  no  longer  knelt,  he  had  sunk  upon  the 
floor  with  his  face  pillowed  against  the  red  cushion  in  the 
chair-seat. 

"O  my  Christ!"  he  said  slowly  aloud,  "I  give  up.  I 
couldn't  do  it  for  God — but  I  can  for  You!  It  was  You  I 
promised — I'll  keep  it — till  the  end!  If  I  go  to  war,  I'll 
go  to  carry — Your  Cross!  And  if  You'll  let  me,  I'll  carry 
it  to  the  very  front!" 

Mrs.  Hodder  found  him  in  the  morning — though  it  was 
morning  indeed  when  the  fight  was  over.  He  had  been 
asleep  but  an  hour,  there  on  the  floor  by  the  old  red  rocker> 
when  she  came  briskly  in  to  open  the  windows  and  give 
the  manse  study  its  usual  early  dusting  and  setting  to 
rights.  At  sight  of  the  desk  light  still  burning  dully  in  the 
pale  daylight  she  looked  astonished,  and  a  moment  later, 


190  RED  AND  BLACK 

as  she  espied  the  figure  on  the  floor  by  the  chair,  she 
started,  frightened.  Trembling  she  called  the  minister's 
name,  stooping  over  him;  but  seeing  at  once  the  warm 
colour  in  his  cheek,  drew  back  with  an  agitated  breath  of 
relief. 

"My  land!"  she  murmured,  "if  the  poor  dear  man  ain't 
so  beat  out  he's  went  to  sleep  right  here  on  the  floor.  I 
always  did  know  he'd  kill  himself  if  he  kept  rushin'  around 
so,  try  in'  to  be  all  things  to  all  men — and  all  women. 
Seems  like  they  couldn't  think  of  enough  things  to  ask 
him  to  do  for  'em,  besides  all  the  things  he  thinks  of  him 
self.  That  bad  news  he  got,  too — likely  that  was  what 
used  him  up." 

"Yes,'*  answered  a  very  sleepy  voice,  when  she  had 
shaken  the  recumbent  shoulder  a  little  and  called  his  name 
once  or  twice,  "all  right.  Breakfast  ready?" 

"Not  yet — but  'twill  be,  in  a  jiffy.  Goodness  me,  Mr. 
Black,  you  certainly  did  give  me  a  start!  You  must  have 
been  tired  to  death,  to  sleep  all  night  on  the  floor,  so." 

Black  got  stiffly  to  his  feet.  "I'm  all  right.  Listen — 
what's  that?" 

It  was  an  early  morning  newsboy  on  the  street  outside, 

stridently  calling:     " Extry — extry  ! "    What  followed 

was  not  distinguishable.  Black,  overcoming  his  stiffness 
of  limb  in  a  hurry,  got  to  the  outer  door,  whistled  loudly, 
and  secured  a  paper.  When  he  came  back  all  appearance 
of  sleep  or  weariness  had  fled  from  him. 

"We're  in,  Mrs.  Hodder,  we're  in!"  he  was  half  shouting, 
and  his  tone  thrilled  his  middle-aged  housekeeper.  Long 
afterward  she  was  accustomed  to  say,  when  she  told  the 
story:  "I  knew  from  that  minute  where  he'd  be.  We'd 
ought  all  have  known  it  from  the  beginning,  but  I  was  so 
dumb  i  never  sensed  it  till  that  morning  when  he  come 


A  LONG  APRIL  NIGHT  191 

back  with  the  paper,  callin'  out  so  solemn — and  yet  so 
happy-like — 'We're  in,  Mrs.  Hodder,  we're  in!'  says  he. 
I  guess  he  was  in!  That  was  a  Saturday.  And  Sunday — 
he  gave  us  the  sign!  My,  but  I'll  never  forget  that!" 

The  sign!  Yes,  that  was  what  Black  did  give.  All  day 
Saturday  he  was  making  possible  the  thing  he  had  long 
before  determined  he  would  do  when  the  hour  came.  From 
mill  to  shop  he  went,  with  orders  and  measurements;  late 
on  Saturday  evening  he  came  out  of  the  Stone  Church  alone, 
locking  the  door  behind  him.  His  face  was  worn  but  not 
unhappy,  and  that  night  he  slept  like  a  tired  child,  his 
cheek  upon  his  hand,  his  heart  quiet  and  steady  in  his 
breast. 

Next  morning,  when  the  people  came  into  church,  every 
eye  turned  startled  to  one  spot.  At  the  right  of  the  pulpit, 
on  the  floor  just  below,  lifted  a  straight  and  sturdy  stand 
ard.  From  it  hung  the  American  flag,  its  silken  folds 
motionless  in  the  still  air,  yet  seeming  alive  in  the  glory  of 
its  vivid  colour.  Above  it  hung  the  only  flag  which  held 
the  right  to  hang  above  the  National  emblem — that  of  the 
Church  Militant,  the  pure  white  pennant  with  its  cross 
of  blue. 

In  a  brief  service  Robert  Black,  his  face  showing  red  and 
white  by  turns  with  a  restrained  emotion  he  could  not 
wholly  conceal,  dedicated  the  two  flags,  and  his  people 
had  their  first  glimpse  of  what  it  might  mean  to  him  and 
them  before  it  should  all  be  over  and  peace  again  upon  the 
earth.  They  couldn't  know  that  to  him  the  real  dedica 
tion  of  the  two  flags  had  taken  place  the  night  before,  when 
alone  in  the  church  he  had  lifted  them  into  place  and  knelt 
before  them,  vowing  anew  his  vow  of  allegiance  and  of 
service  to  God  and  country,  a  vow  never  again  to  be 
insecure  upon  his  lips. 


CHAPTER  XII 
EVERYBODY  PLOTS 

MAY  I  come  in?" 
Nan  Lockhart  hardly  paused  for  permission  to 
enter  Fanny's  room,  so  accustomed  was  she  to  share  in 
timately  with  her  friend  most  of  her  possessions,  including 
rooms.  Therefore  she  followed  her  knock  and  question 
with  her  entrance — and  paused  upon  the  threshold  with  a 
boyish  whistle  of  surprise  not  unmixed  with  derision. 

Fanny  turned  away  from  the  long  mirror  with  a 
little  laugh.  "Well,  how  do  you  like  me  in  it?"  she 
inquired. 

"Oh,  you're  stunning,  of  course,"  Nan  admitted. 
"Trying  on  all  the  different  forms  of  war  service,  to  see 
which  is  most  becoming?  You'll  let  that  decide  it,  of 
course?" 

"Certainly,  Miss  Cynic!  And  why  not?  Shouldn't  a 
girl  make  the  most  of  herself,  under  all  conditions?" 

Fanny  had  donned  a  white  blouse  and  skirt,  white  shoes 
and  stockings,  and  had  pinned  a  white  towel  about  her 
head.  She  had  even  gone  to  the  trouble  of  cutting  out  a 
small  red  cross  and  fastening  it  upon  the  front  of  her  head 
gear.  The  towel  did  not  entirely  cover  her  hair;  engaging 
ringlets  showed  themselves  about  her  small  ears.  She 
resembled  a  fascinating  young  nun  except  that  in  her 
eyes  danced  a  most  unconventual  wickedness. 

"This  is  merely  stage  play,  I  suppose?"  Nan  questioned 

192 


EVERYBODY  PLOTS  193 

dryly.  "You've  no  possible  thought  of  offering  your 
services,  in  towels  or  out  of  them?" 

Fanny  Fitch  swung  herself  up  to  the  footboard  of  her 
bed,  and  sat  there,  swinging  her  pretty  feet.  She  smiled 
at  her  friend  disarmingly;  but  Nan  did  not  disarm  under 
the  smile. 

"You're  the  most  distrustful  creature  I  ever  knew, 
Nancy  Lockhart.  Don't  you  think  I  could  get  away  with 
the  nursing  proposition?  Smooth  the  fevered  brow,  and 
count  the  throbbing  pulse,  and  charm  the  disordered  brain 
back  to  sanity  and  calm  ?  Read  aloud  to " 

"And  wade  around  in  floods  of  gore,  and  scrub  the  floor 
of  the  operating  room,  and  keep  on  working  when  your 
back  aches  like  fury,  and  get  about  four  hours'  sleep  out 
of  twenty-four?  Wear  your  white  uniform  with  the  ward 
below  fifty  degrees — and  zero  outside?  Game,  are  you, 
Fanny?" 

"Bless  my  soul! — how  terribly  technical  you  sound! 
What  do  you  know  about  it  all?" 

"More  than  you  do,  I'll  wager.  I've  been  reading 
about  an  American  girl  who  has  been  in  it  for  two  years 
already.  She  'wears  the  rue — with  a  difference,'  methinks, 
Fanny." 

"Oh,  well — I've  got  to  get  in  it  somehow,"  announced 
the  wearer  of  the  pseudo-uniform  frankly.  "  Because,  you 
know,  my  friend  Robert  Black  is  going,  and  I  can't  think 
with  serenity  of  the  wide  Atlantic  rolling  between  us.  Of 
course  there's  just  one  way  I'd  like  to  go,  and  maybe  I'll 
achieve  that  yet."  Her  eyes  sparkled.  "Ye  gods, 
but  wouldn't  that  be  great!  What'll  you  wager  I  go — 
that  way?" 

"What  way?" 

"As    his — well — "     Fanny    seemed    to    be    enjoying 


i94  RED  AND  BLACK 

herself  intensely — "as  his  comrade-at-arms,  you  know — 
meaning,  of  course,  his — comrade  in  arms.  Oh-h!" — 
she  gave  the  exclamation  all  the  dramatic  force  it  could 
hold,  drawing  it  out  with  an  effect  of  ecstasy — "Think 
of  walking  away  with  Robert  McPherson  Black  from 
under  the  very  eyes  of  his  congregation — and  of  the  demure 
but  intriguing  Jane!"  And  she  threw  both  arms  wide 
in  a  gesture  of  abandon,  then  clasped  them  across  her 
breast,  slipped  down  from  the  footboard,  and  fell  at 
Nan's  feet,  looking  up  at  her  with  beseeching  eyes  and  an 
utter  change  of  aspect.  "Oh,  please,  my  dearest  dear, 
don't  put  any  spokes  in  my  wheel!  Let  me  just  imagine 
I'm  doing  something  to  bridge  the  chasm — the  enormous 
chasm  between  us.  It's  a  frightful  thing  to  be  so  deeply, 
darkly,  desperately  in  love  as  I  am — and  then  to  see  your 
hero  absorbed  in  plans  to  take  himself  away  from  you,  out 
of  your  world,  with  never  a  look  behind!" 

"Fanny!" 

"Oh,  but  I'll  make  him  look  behind— I  will— I  will! 
I'll  turn  those  rapt  black  eyes  of  his  back  to  the  earth, 
earthy — or  to  the  United  States,  United  States-y — and  to 
Fanny  Fitch.  And — I'll  keep  Jane  Ray  home  if  I  have 
to  put  poison  in  her  food." 

"Fanny,  get  up!"  Nan  reached  down  and  shook  her 
friend's  shoulders.  "What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with 
you?  Have  you  gone  crazy?" 

"I  think  so."  Fanny  buried  her  head  in  Nan's  skirts, 
clasping  her  arms  about  the  other's  waist.  "Raving 
crazy.  I  met  Mr.  Black  on  the  street  just  now.  He  was 
rushing  along  with  his  wagon  hitched  to  a  star,  by  the 
look  of  him.  He  didn't  even  see  me  till  he  all  but  ran 
into  me.  Of  course  I  had  put  myself  in  his  way.  Then 
he  snatched  off  his  hat,  asked  pardon  and  how  I  was,  all 


EVERYBODY  PLOTS  195 

in  the  same  breath — as  if  I  had  been  one  of  his  very  oldest 
old  ladies — and  got  away  like  a  catapult.  He  was  going 
in  the  direction  of  the  station,  I  admit,  but  that  wouldn't 
reasonably  have  prevented  his  exchanging  a  few  friendly 
words  with  me.  Oh,  I  can  stand  anything — anything — 
but  having  a  man  not  even  see  me!" 

"So  I  should  judge,  my  dear,  from  past  experience," 
Nan  commented,  grimly.  She  had  put  her  arms  rather 
reluctantly  about  Fanny,  however;  it  was  impossible  not 
to  see  that  something,  at  least,  of  this  hysteria  was  caused 
by  real  feeling,  if  amazingly  undisguised.  She  was  quite 
accustomed  to  Fanny's  self-revelations,  and  entirely  used 
to  taking  them  without  seriousness.  But  in  the  present 
instance  her  sympathies  were  supplemented  by  her  under 
standing  of  how  it  might  be  quite  possible  for  a  girl  to  lose 
her  head  over  Robert  Black  without  his  being  in  the  least 
responsible  by  personal  word  or  deed.  She  now  endeav 
oured  to  apply  a  remedy  to  the  situation. 

"Fanny,"  she  said,  "Mr.  Black  isn't  thinking  about 
anything  just  now  but  war,  and  how  to  get  across.  He 
has  lost  those  fine  young  nephews,  whom  he  expected  to 
have  come  here  when  the  war  was  over,  and  his  mind  is 
full  of  them.  He  hasn't  a  corner  of  his  attention  to  give 
to  women — any  woman " 

"I've  met  him  twice  in  the  last  week  coming  out  of 
Jane  Ray's.  Of  course  Gary  was  with  him  one  of  the 
times,  and  Doctor  Burns  the  other — but  that  doesn't 
mean  he  hadn't  been  confabbing  with  Jane.  He's  wise 
as  a  serpent,  but  I'm  not  at  all  sure  he's  harmless  as  a  dove 
— he's  much  too  clever  to  be  seen  paying  attentions  to 
any  of  us.  He's  always  with  some  man — you  can't  get 
at  him.  And  when  he  comes  here  he  has  Tom  hanging 
round  him  every  minute.  Of  course  I  know  Tommy  wants 


196  RED  AND  BLACK 

to  keep  him  away  from  me — but  he  appears  to  want  to 
be  kept  away,  so  I  can't  so  much  as  get  a  chance.  If  I 
could But— I  will!" 

Fanny  sat  back  on  her  heels,  wiping  away  a  real  tear 
with  the  corner  of  her  towel. 

"Of  course  you  will,  if  you  set  out  to  do  it.  But — be 
careful,  my  dear.  Robert  Black  can't  be  taken  by  storm." 

"That's  the  one  way  he  can  be  taken.  I  might  plot  and 
plan  forever  to  make  an  impression  on  him  in  the  ordinary 
ways — he's  steel  proof,  I  think,  against  those.  The  only 
way  to  get  his  attention  is  the  way  this  war  has  got  it — 
by  shot  and  shell.  If  I  can  just  somehow  be  badly 
wounded  and  fall  down  in  his  path,  he'll — stoop  and  pick 
me  up.  And  if  he  once  finds  me  in  his  arms " 

"Oh,  Fanny,  Fanny!  For  heaven's  sake  don't  try  to 
play  a  game  with  him!"  Nan  spoke  sternly.  She  re 
moved  herself  by  a  pace  or  two  from  her  friend,  and  stood 
aloof,  her  dark  brows  drawing  together.  "I  know  you're 
a  born  actress  and  can  assume  any  part  you  like.  That 
may  be  well  enough  in  ordinary  times — though  I  doubt  it 
— but  not  in  times  like  these.  Don't  go  to  war  to  play 
the  old  game  of  hitting  hearts.  You're  not  going  to  war — 
I  know  that — but  don't  pretend  you  want  to.  It  isn't 
fair.  This  thing  is  one  of  life  or  death,  and  that's  what's 
taking  men  like  Doctor  Burns  and  Mr.  Black  into  it. 
They'll  have  no  use  for  anybody  who  doesn't  offer  him 
self,  body  and  soul.  That's  what  Jane  Ray  is  doing — 
but  not  you,  you  know.  You  just  want — to  marry  a 
man." 

"Oh,  but  you're  hard!"  Fanny  got  to  her  feet,  moved 
over  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out,  the  picture  of 
unhappiness.  "Jane  Ray,  indeed!  How  does  it  happen 
you  believe  in  her  so  fast?  Why  isn't  she  playing  a  game, 


EVERYBODY  PLOTS  197 

too? — Of  course  she  is.  But  because  her  hair  is  smooth 
and  dark,  and  her  manner  so  sweetly  poised,  you  take  her 
at  her  own  valuation.  She's  clever  as  Satan,  and  she'll 
put  it  over,  I  suppose.  But  why,  just  because  I'm  of  a 
different  type,  I  must  be  forever  accused  of  acting '*' 

"My  dear — I'm  taking  you  at  your  own  valuation. 
Haven't  you  explained  to  me  exactly  the  part  you  intend 
to  play — getting  badly  wounded  and  falling  down  in 
Robert  Black's  path " 

"You're  so  intensely  literal!"  Fanny  spoke  bitterly. 
"  Heaven  knows  it  will  be  no  acting  if  I  do  get  wounded. 
I'm  wounded  now — to  the  heart.  And  if  I  fall  down  in 
his  path  it'll  be  because  I  can't  stand  up.  Last  Sunday, 
when  he  stood  there  under  the  colours — who  wouldn't 
have  wanted  him?  Why,  even  you — "  she  turned  to 
look  full  at  Nan,  with  her  reddened  eyes  searching  Nan's 
grave  face — "  it  wouldn't  take  an  awful  lot  of  imagination 
to  put  you  in  the  same  class  with  me,  in  spite  of  that 
wonderful  grip  you  always  keep  on  yourself.  Honestly, 
now,  can  you  tell  me  you  wouldn't  marry  him,  if  he  asked 
you?" 

Annette  Lockhart  was  not  of  those  who  turn  scarlet  or 
pale  under  cross-examination.  Moreover,  she  was  the 
daughter  of  Samuel  Lockhart  and  had  from  him  the  ability 
to  keep  close  hold  of  her  emotions.  She  was  entirely 
accustomed  to  facing  down  Fanny  Fitch  when  she  did  not 
choose  to  reveal  herself  to  her.  Nevertheless,  it  may  have 
cost  her  the  effort  of  her  life  to  answer  neither  too  vehe 
mently  nor  too  nonchalantly  this  highly  disconcerting, 
question. 

"You  certainly  must  be  a  little  mad  to-day,  my  dear 
girl.  Just  because  you  are  so  hard  hit,  don't  go  to  fancy 
ing  that  the  woods  are  full  of  the  slain.  I  like  Mr.  Black 


198  RED  AND  BLACK 

very  much,  but  I'm  not  a  case  for  the  stretcher  bearers — 
nor  likely  to  be.  And  just  now  I'm  wanting  so  much  to 
go  myself,  and  know  I  can't  possibly,  because  Tom  will, 
and  Father  and  Mother  couldn't  face  our  both  going  at 
once." 

Fanny  began  suddenly  to  get  out  of  her  white  apparel. 
"I'm  going  round  to  see  Jane  Ray,"  she  announced,  with 
one  of  the  characteristic  impulses  to  whose  expression  Nan 
was  well  used.  "It's  best  to  make  friends  with  the  enemy 
in  this  case,  I  think.  And  possibly  I  may  meet  Robert 
Black — coming  out  or  going  in  under  cover  of  a  man  friend. 
In  that  case  I  may  receive  one  casual  glance  from  His 
Eminence  which  will  complete  my  undoing  for  to-day. 
That  will  surely  be  worth  while."  She  laughed  unhap 
pily. 

Half  an  hour  afterward  she  walked  into  Jane  Ray's 
shop.  Her  eyes  were  red  no  longer,  her  colour  was  charm 
ing,  her  manner  was  composed.  When  Jane  was  at 
liberty  Fanny  discussed  "pie-crust"  tables  with  her,  de 
claring  her  intention  to  present  something  of  the  sort  to 
Mrs.  Lockhart. 

"I've  made  such  a  terribly  long  visit,"  she  explained, 
"and  still  they  urge  me  to  stay  on.  Of  course  it's  wonder 
ful  for  me — with  my  mother  so  far  away.  But  I  shall  only 
stay  till  I  can  find  out  where  to  offer  myself — if  mother  will 
just  say  I  may  go.  Poor  dear,  she  has  such  a  horror  of  war 
— she  may  make  it  difficult  for  me.  Meanwhile — I  want  to 
take  every  possible  step,  so  I  can  have  every  argument  to 
meet  her  with.  If  I  could  only  go  with  someone — some 
other  girl — she  might  feel  differently  about  it." 

"Yes,  I  should  think  that  might  help  it,"  Jane  agreed. 
Her  dark  eyes  met  Fanny's  lustrous  blue  ones  across  the 
group  of  tables  they  had  been  considering.  She  was  very 


EVERYBODY  PLOTS  199 

much  on  her  guard  now  wherever  Miss  Fitch  was  con 
cerned.  The  problem  of  the  friendship  between  Nan 
Lockhart,  whom  Jane  couldn't  help  liking  and  thoroughly 
trusting,  and  Fanny  Fitch,  whom  she  could  somehow 
neither  like  nor  trust,  was  one  which  she  had  as  yet  found 
no  means  of  solving.  Also,  Gary's  sudden  and  intense 
interest  in  Fanny  had  set  his  sister  to  studying  the  girl 
with  new  acuteness.  Thus  far  she  seemed  to  Jane  all 
actress;  it  was  becoming  increasingly  difficult  not  to  sus 
pect  her  constantly  of  being  other  than  she  seemed. 

"And  yet  we  all  act,  more  or  less,"  Jane  said  to  herself 
honestly.  "I'm  acting  this  very  minute,  myself.  I'm 
playing  the  part  of  one  who  is  only  politely  interested  in 
what  she  means  to  do,  while  I'm  really  crazily  anxious  that 
she  shall  not  do  certain  things  which  involve  Gary  and  me." 

"I  wonder  if  you  would  trust  me  with  any  of  your  own 
plans,"  Fanny  said,  engagingly.  "I  can't  help  knowing 
that  you  mean  to  go,  and  I'm  sure  you  must  have  much 
real  knowledge  that  I'm  ignorant  of.  Is  nursing  the  only 
thing  a  girl  can  do?  You're  not  trained  for  that,  are 
you  ?  Forgive  me — I'm  not  just  curious,  you  know — I'm 
tremendously  serious." 

"My  plans  aren't  fully  worked  out,"  Jane  answered. 
"I  have  enough  training  to  go  as  nurse's  assistant,  under 
the  Red  Cross." 

"Oh,  have  you?  How  wonderful!  Could  I  get  that, 
do  you  suppose?  I'm  really  a  terribly  quick  study — I 
used  to  cram  any  amount  of  stuff  in  the  forty-eight  hours 
before  an  exam,  and  get  away  with  it.  If  I  could — oh, 
Miss  Ray — would  it  be  possible — would  you  be  willing — 
could  you  consider  letting  me  go  with  you  ? " 

Jane  looked  into  the  sea-blue  eyes  which  were  looking 
so  appealingly  into  her  own.  "Yes,"  she  said  to  herself 


200  RED  AND  BLACK 

again,  "I  can  see  exactly  how  you  do  it.  That  look  is 
absolutely  irresistible — just  angel-sweet  and  full  of  sincer 
ity.  I  wish  I  could  trust  you — I  really  wish  I  could.  But 
somehow — I  can't.  Something  inside  me  says  that  you 
don't  mean  it — you  don't — you're  not  genuine.  You've 
some  stake  you're  playing  for — you  don't  care  a  copper 
cent  about  helping  over  there.  How  am  I  going  to  deal 
with  you?" 

It's  odd,  isn't  it?  How  do  we  do  it — how  do  we  keep 
up  this  double  discussion,  one  with  our  lips,  the  other  with 
our  thoughts?  Jane  and  Fanny  went  into  the  matter 
rather  thoroughly,  talking  with  entire  friendliness  ot 
manner  about  possible  courses  to  be  followed,  sources  of 
information  to  be  consulted;  and  all  the  time  the  things 
they  both  were  thinking  ran  so  far  ahead  in  volume 
and  in  direction  of  the  things  they  were  saying  that  there 
could  be  no  comparison  between  the  two.  Both  were 
much  too  well  trained  in  worldly  wisdom  to  allow  the 
smallest  particle  of  personal  antagonism  to  show  in  word 
or  manner,  and  yet  as  the  talk  proceeded  each  became  more 
and  more  aware  that  there  was  and  could  be  no  sympathy 
or  openness  between  them. 

And  then  Gary  came  dashing  into  the  shop,  and  seeing 
Fanny  pounced  upon  her  and  bore  her  away  with  him  for 
a  walk,  vowing  he  should  so  soon  be  gone  he  must  make 
the  most  of  every  opportunity.  Jane  looked  after  them 
as  they  went,  wishing  heartily  that  the  day  would  come 
quickly  when  Gary  would  be  off  and  away.  His  plans 
were  rapidly  taking  shape;  his  old  newspaper,  after  a 
searching  interview  with  him  and  a  series  of  inquiries 
directed  toward  establishing  the  thoroughness  of  his  refor 
mation,  had  made  him  a  sort  of  probational  offer  which  he 
had  accepted  with  mingled  glee  and  resentment. 


EVERYBODY  PLOTS  201 

"They'll  send  me,  only  with  all  kinds  of  conditions 
attached  which  I'd  never  accept  if  I  weren't  so  wild  to  go. 
But  they'll  see — I'll  show  them.  Just  let  me  send  back 
one  rattling  article  from  the  real  front,  and  they'll  be  wiring 
to  tie  me  up  to  the  thing  for  the  duration  of  the  war." 
Thus  he  had  exultantly  prophesied  to  his  sister,  and  to 
Robert  Black,  and  to  Red,  and  they  had  agreed  that  it  was 
certainly  up  to  him.  He  had  his  chance — the  chance  to 
retrieve  himself  completely;  they  were  all  three  concern 
edly  eager  to  see  him  safely  off  upon  his  big  adventure. 

He  was  so  excited  about  it,  so  restless,  so  impatient  for 
the  call  which  had  been  virtually  promised  him  for  an 
early  date,  that  they  felt  constrained  to  watch  him  care 
fully.  Without  knowing  exactly  why,  none  of  these 
three  friends  quite  liked  to  see  him  often  with  Fanny  Fitch. 
Jane  herself  was  unwilling  to  appeal  to  Fanny,  or  to  give 
her  even  a  vague  idea  of  his  past  weakness;  she  now  saw 
them  go  away  together  with  an  uneasy  feeling  that  she 
wished  it  hadn't  happened. 

An  hour  later  Gary  telephoned  that  he  wouldn't  be  back 
for  dinner;  he  would  take  it  in  town,  he  said — he  had  some 
equipment  to  look  up.  He  might  be  back  late — Jane  was 
not  to  sit  up  for  him.  He  said  nothing  about  Miss  Fitch, 
but  Jane's  instant  conviction  was  that  the  two  were  dining 
together.  Probably  they  would  go  to  the  theatre  after 
ward  and  come  out  on  a  late  local.  Well,  what  of  it? 
Fanny  was  no  schoolgirl  to  need  chaperonage;  there  was 
nothing  in  this  program  to  disturb  anybody.  But  Jane 
was  disturbed.  Suppose — well,  suppose  Fanny  were  the 
sort  of  girl  who  didn't  object  to  having  a  cocktail — or  a 
glass  of  champagne — or  both — at  a  hotel  dinner  alone 
with  a  man?  What  would  companionship  on  that  basis 
do  for  Gary,  just  now?  She  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that 


202  RED  AND  BLACK 

Miss  Fitch  was  that  sort  of  girl,  and  yet — somehow — she 
felt  that  the  chances  were  in  favour  of  her  being  precisely 
that  sort  of  girl.  Nan  Lockhart's  friend — wasn't  that 
voucher  enough?  Still,  friends  didn't  always  know  each 
other  as  well  as  they  supposed  they  did.  And  Fanny, 
ever  since  she  had  dressed  the  part  of  the  French  actress 
with  such  fidelity  to  fact,  had  seemed  to  Jane  an  over- 
sophisticated  young  woman  who  wouldn't  much  mind 
what  she  did,  so  that  she  drew  men's  eyes  and  thoughts  to 
herself.  Excitement — that  was  what  Fanny  wanted, 
Jane  was  sure.  An  excellent  chance  for  it,  too,  dining 
with  a  brilliant  young  war-correspondent,  himself  keyed 
to  high  pitch  over  his  near  future.  And  if  the  play 
chanced  to  be 

A  certain  recollection  leaped  into  Jane's  brain.  She 
went  hurriedly  to  the  back  of  the  shop  for  the  city  daily, 
and  scanned  a  column  of  play  offerings.  Yes,  there  it 
was — she  remembered  seeing  it,  and  Gary's  laughing  ref 
erence  to  it  at  the  breakfast  table  that  morning,  coupled 
with  the  statement  that  he  meant  to  see  it.  The  play  was 
one  of  the  most  noted  dramatic  successes  of  the  season,  its 
star  one  famous  for  her  beauty  and  sorcery,  and  not  less 
than  infamous  for  the  even  artistically  unjustifiable  note 
she  never  failed  to  strike,  its  lines  and  scenes  the  last  word 
in  modern  daring.  A  great  play  for  a  man  and  woman  to 
see  together,  with  wine  before  and  after!  And  Gary  could 
not  safely  so  much  as  touch  his  lips  to  a  glass  of  the  most 
innocent  of  the  stimulants  without  danger  to  that  appetite 
of  his  which  was  as  yet  only  scotched,  not  slain.  If  any 
thing  happened  now  to  wreck  his  plans — what  confidence 
in  him,  what  hope  of  him,  could  be  again  revived? 

After  all,  perhaps  Jane  was  borrowing  trouble.  The  pair 
might  have  had  only  the  walk  they  went  for,  Gary  after* 


EVERYBODY  PLOTS  203 

ward  taking  the  train  for  town  alone.  On  tne  impulse — 
what  did  it  matter  whom  she  offended  if  she  saved  her 
brother  from  his  great  temptation? — she  went  to  the  tele 
phone  and  called  up  the  Lockhart  residence.  Was  Miss 
Fitch  in?  The  answer  came  back  promptly:  Miss  Fitch 
was  not  in.  She  had  not  left  word  when  she  would  be  in, 
but  it  was  likely  that  she  had  gone  into  town,  as  she  had 
spoken  of  the  possibility. 

Jane  hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  heavy  heart.  Perhaps 
her  imagination  was  running  away  with  her — she  hoped 
it  was.  But  the  conviction  grew  upon  her  that  part,  if 
not  all,  of  her  supposition  was  likely  to  prove  true.  Fanny 
Fitch  might  be  quite  above  the  kind  of  thing  Jane  was 
imputing  to  her;  it  might  be  that  Gary  himself,  aware  of 
the  danger  to  his  whole  future  of  one  false  step  now,  would 
be  too  thoroughly  on  his  guard  to  take  one  smallest  chance. 
Hotel  lobbies  and  cafes  were  always  the  meeting  places  of 
newspaper  men;  he  might  easily  be  recognized  by  some 
man  who  knew  that  he  was  upon  probation;  Gary  under 
stood  this  perfectly;  he  would  take  care  to  run  no  risk. 
Would  he? 

Jane  looked  up  the  train  schedule.  Then  she  dressed 
carefully,  locked  the  shop,  took  the  earliest  train  which 
would  get  her  to  town,  and  tried  to  make  plans  on  the  way. 
As  to  just  what  she  meant  to  do  she  was  not  clear.  If  no 
other  way  presented  she  felt  that  she  must  get  hold  of 
Fanny  herself  and  warn  her  of  Gary's  susceptibilities  and 
the  consequences  of  any  weakening  at  this  hour  of  his  life. 
And  then  what?  Was  there  that  in  Fanny  to  be  counted 
on? 

All  the  way  sne  was  wishing  for  Robert  Black!  Just 
what  he  could  do  she  had  no  idea;  that  he  would  somehow 
find  a  way  she  was  certain.  But  it  was  small  use  wishing. 


204  RED  AND  BLACK 

The  next  best  thing  would  be  to  come  upon  Red  Pepper 
Burns,  and  this  seemed  not  impossible,  because  he  was 
daily  to  be  found  in  this  city  of  which  his  own  town  was 
the  suburb;  he  did  most  of  his  operating  at  one  of  its  hos 
pitals.  What  Red  might  do  in  the  emergency  she  could 
hardly  imagine,  either — but  she  was  equally  sure  that  he 
would  cut  across  all  obstacles  to  force  Gary  out  of  possible 
danger. 

To  what  hotel  would  Gary  take  Fanny?  She  could  be 
pretty  sure  of  this — it  was  one  at  the  moment  highly 
popular  with  the  sociably  inclined  younger  element  of  the 
city,  as  well  as  with  the  floating  class  who  pick  out  a  cer 
tain  pronounced  type  of  hostelry  wherever  they  may  go. 
Rather  more  than  moderately  high  prices,  excellent  food, 
superlatively  good  music,  a  management  astute  beyond 
the  average — plus  a  general  air  of  prosperity  and  good 
fellowship — this  makes  the  place  for  the  gathering  of 
the  clans  who  love  what  they  call  a  good  time,  and  who 
have  in  their  pockets — for  the  hour,  at  least — the  money 
to  pay  for  it. 

Jane  left  her  train  in  haste,  crossed  the  big  waiting-room 
with  quick  glances  to  right  and  left  in  search  of  a  possible 
encounter,  and  at  the  outer  door  ran  full  upon  someone 
she  had  not  been  looking  for  but  at  sight  of  whom  a  light 
of  relief  leaped  into  her  face.  Mrs.  Redfield  Pepper  Burns 
stood  close  beside  the  door,  evidently  waiting  for  someone. 
Instantly  Jane's  decision  was  made.  She  did  not  know- 
Mrs.  Burns  nearly  as  well  as  she  did  the  red-headed  doctor, 
but  she  knew  her  quite  well  enough  to  take  counsel  with 
her,  sure  that  she  would  understand  and  help. 

"Mrs.  Burns," — Jane  spoke  rapidly  and  low — "please 
forgive  me  for  bothering  you  with  my  affairs.  I  may  be 
borrowing  trouble,  but  I  am  anxious  about  my  brother. 


EVERYBODY  PLOTS  205 

I  think  he  is  dining  in  town  to-night  at  the  Napoleon,  and 
may  be  going  to  a  play.  He  is  with  Miss  Fitch,  I  be 
lieve,  and  I'm  afraid  she  doesn't  understand  that — just  now 
— he  mustn't  take — any  sort  of  stimulant.  Doctor  Burns 
understands — perhaps  you  do,  too — or  will,  from  my  telling 
you  this  much.  I  wish — would  it  be  too  much  ? — to  ask 
you  to  stay  and  have  dinner  with  me  at  the  Napoleon,  and 
perhaps  join  Miss  Fitch  and  Gary — or  ask  them  to  join  us? 
I  can't  think  just  what  else  to  do." 

She  had  always  deeply  admired  Ellen  Burns;  now,  quite 
suddenly,  she  found  herself  loving  her.  One  long  look 
from  the  beautiful  black  eyes,  one  firm  pressure  from  the 
friendly  hand,  the  sound  of  the  low,  warm-toned  voice  in 
her  ear,  and  she  knew  that  she  had  enlisted  a  true  friend. 

"My  dear — just  let  me  think.  I  believe  we  can  do 
even  better  than  that."  A  minute  of  silence  followed, 
then  Mrs.  Burns  went  on:  "My  husband  and  Mr. 
Black  are  staying  in  together,  to  meet  a  quite  famous 
man  from  abroad.  They  were  to  have  dinner  together 

first  at Wait — I'll  not  stop  to  explain — Let  me  leave  a 

message  here,  and  then  we'll  take  a  cab  and  run  back  up 
there.  I've  only  just  left  them." 

In  the  cab,  five  minutes  later,  Mrs.  Burns  worked  out  her 
quickly  conceived  idea. 

"We'll  find  my  husband  and  Mr.  Black,  go  to  dinner  at 
the  Napoleon,  and  ask  your  brother  and  Miss  Fitch  to  join 
us.  Once  Red  knows  the  situation  he  will  find  a  way  to 
get  Mr.  Ray  off  with  them  to  meet  the  famous  one,  and  you 
and  I  will  take  Miss  Fitch  to  the  play.  What  is  on  to 
night  ? "  She  drew  her  lovely  brows  together.  "  Not — oh, 
not  that  very  unpleasant  Russian  thing  ? — Yes ?  Oh,  we'll 
find  something  else — or  go  to  a  charming  violin  recital  I 
had  half  intended  to  stay  in  for.  Don't  be  anxious,  Miss 


206  RED  AND  BLACK 

Ray,  we'll  work  it  out.     And  what  we  can't  think  of  Robert 
Black  will — he's  quite  wonderfully  resourceful." 

Hours  afterward,  when,  well  towards  morning,  Jane 
closed  her  eyes  and  tried  to  sleep,  her  mind  refused  to  give 
her  anything  to  look  at  but  a  series  of  pictures,  like  scenes 
in  a  well-staged  play.  Certain  ones  stood  out,  and  the 
earliest  of  these  showed  Mrs.  Burns  crossing  a  quiet  recep 
tion  room  to  lay  one  hand  on  her  nusband's  arm,  while  her 
eyes  met  frankly  first  his  questioning  gaze  and  then  that 
of  Robert  Black.  Nothing  could  have  been  simpler  than 
her  reasonable  request  of  them.  Might  they  change  their 
plans  a  bit,  now  that  she  had  found  Miss  Ray,  and  all  go 
over  to  the  Napoleon  to  dinner,  to  find  Miss  Fitch  and  Mr. 
Ray?  The  hazel  eyes  of  Red  Pepper  Burns  had  looked 
deeply  into  his  wife's  at  this — he  saw  plainly  that  she  was 
definitely  planning,  with  a  reason.  He  was  well  used  to 
trusting  her — he  trusted  her  now.  He  nodded.  "Of 
course,  dear,"  he  said. 

Robert  Black  came  to  Jane.  "I  think  I  understand," 
he  said  quietly.  "We'll  all  stand  by." 

They  crossed  the  street  together — Red  went  to  inter 
view  the  head  waiter.  Within  five  minutes  the  four  were 
being  led  to  a  table  at  the  very  back  of  the  room,  close  be 
side  one  of  those  small  recesses,  holding  each  a  table  for 
two,  which  are  among  the  Napoleon's  most  popular  assets. 
And  then  Mrs.  Burns,  looking  across  into  the  recess,  had 
nodded  and  smiled,  and  spoken  to  her  husband,  and  he 
had  promptly  gone  across,  and  invited  the  pair  there  to 
come  over  and  be  his  guests. 

Gary  had  turned  violently  red,  and  had  begun  to  say 
stiffly  and  very  definitely  that  his  order  had  gone  in, 
and  that  it  would  be  as  well  not  to  change,  thank  you, 
when  Robert  Black  came  also  into  the  recess,  bowing  in 


EVERYBODY  PLOTS  207 

his  most  dignified  manner  to  Fanny  Fitch.  Somehow 
Jane  Ray  had  not  known  until  that  moment  quite  how 
much  dignity  he  could  assume.  "  Ray,"  he  had  said,  in  the 
other's  ear,  "I  imagine  you  haven't  heard  that  Richard 
Temple  is  here  to-night — on  his  way  back.  Couldn't  you 
cut  everything  else  and  go  with  me  to  hear  him  ?  There 
won't  be  such  a  chance  again  before  we  get  across.  I'm 
sure  Miss  Fitch  would  excuse  you.  It's  a  smoker,  ar 
ranged  in  a  hurry.  Nobody  knew  he  was  coming." 

Well,  that  made  all  the  difference.  Call  it  luck,  call  it 
what  you  will,  that  the  great  war-correspondent,  the  great 
est  of  them  all  up  to  that  time,  a  man  whom  Gary  Ray 
would  almost  have  given  his  right  arm  to  meet,  was  pass 
ing  through  the  town  that  night.  It  had  been  another 
man,  more  famous  in  a  different  line,  an  Englishman  from 
a  great  university,  turned  soldier,  whom  Black  and  Red 
had  stayed  in  town  to  meet.  But  the  moment  Black  had 
discovered  Jane's  anxiety  and  its  cause  he  had  leaped  at 
this  solution.  The  correspondent's  coming  was  an  accident 
owing  to  a  train  detention — he  had  arrived  unheralded,  and 
the  two  men  had  but  just  got  wind  of  it.  They  had  been 
saying,  as  Mrs.  Burns  and  Jane  came  to  the  hotel,  that 
it  was  hard  to  have  to  choose  between  two  such  rich  events, 
and  that  they  must  look  in  on  the  smoker  when  the 
Englishman  had  been  heard.  But  now — Black  had  all  at 
once  but  one  purpose  in  the  world — to  carry  off  Gary  Ray 
to  that  smoker,  and  to  stay  beside  him  till  he  was  at  home 
again.  That  Gary  would  drink  no  drop  while  he,  Robert, 
was  beside  him,  was  a  thing  that  could  be  definitely 
counted  on. 

"It  is  possible  that  no  point  of  view,  in  relation  to  the 
remainder  of  the  evening,  could  be  better  worth  study  than 
that  of  Fanny  Fitch.  Sitting  on  the  foot  of  Nan  Lock- 


208  RED  AND  BLACK 

hart's  bed  at  two  o'clock  that  morning,  she  gave  a  dramatic 
account  of  what  had  happened.  Nan,  sleepy  enough  at 
first,  and  indignant  with  Fanny  for  waking  her,  found 
herself  wide  awake  in  no  time. 

"The  perfectly  calm  and  charming  way  in  which  Mrs. 
Burns  simply  switched  everything  to  suit  Jane  shows 
plainly  what  an  intriguer  that  girl  is — precisely  as  I  told 
you.  Oh,  yes — Doctor  Burns  asked  us  over,  and  Robert 
Black  fixed  Gary  for  the  war-correspondent  affair,  and 
Jane  sat  there  looking  as  if  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  her 
mouth.  Both  she  and  Mrs.  Burns  seemed  merely  lovely, 
innocent  creatures  intent  on  distributing  good  to  every 
body  !  But  those  men  never  would  have  thought  of  taking 
Gary  away  from  me  if  they  hadn't  been  put  up  to  it;  men 
never  conceive  that  sort  of  thing  by  themselves.  That 
dinner — oh,  how  I  hated  it!  Will  you  tell  me  why  Gary 
Ray  had  to  be  pried  loose  from  me,  as  if  I  were  some  kind 
of  vampire  of  the  movie  variety " 

"But  really,  Fanny,  Richard  Temple  is  the  one  man 
in  the  world  Gary  Ray  ought  not  to  miss  hearing  and  meet 
ing  just  now.  It  would  mean  such  a  lot  to  him.  And-if 
he  was  only  there  that  one  evening " 

"Oh,  I'll  admit  that!  But  to  hear  Richard  Temple 
Gary  Ray  didn't  have  to  be  moved  over  to  the  Burns  table 
and  put  in  a  high  chair  and  have  a  bib  tied  round  his  neck! 
He  was  furious  himself  when  the  change  was  proposed; 
then  of  course  he  went  delirious  at  hearing  that  the  Temple 
man  was  in  town,  and  forgot  his  fury.  He  had  to  cancel 
part  of  his  order — worse  luck;  Mrs.  Burns  is  the  sort  who 
wouldn't  stand  for  iced  tea  if  it  was  served  in  a  champagne 
glass!" 

"  Fanny!  You  don't  mean Why,  surely  you've  been 

told  about  Gary  Ray.  You  wouldn't  let  him " 


EVERYBODY  PLOTS  209 

"Good  gracious,  can't  the  man  stand  alone  by  this  time? 
He's  going  overseas — has  he  got  to  have  a  nurse  along? 
What's  having  one  little  glass  at  a  dinner  with  a  girl  like 
me  compared  with  the  things  men  order  when  they're  alone 
together?  He'd  better  stay  home  if  he  isn't " 

"Yes,  but — just  now,  when  he's  on  trial,  and  he  might 
so  easily  be  held  back!  And  besides,  Fanny — you're  not — 
you  ought  not " 

"Oh,  don't  preach!  Haven't  I  been  a  very  model  of 
propriety?  And  am  I  not  going  to  keep  right  on  being 
one,  as  long  as  there's  the  least  chance  of — getting  what  I 
want?  You  needn't  grudge  me  one  little  jolly  evening 
with  a  boy  like  Gary  Ray,  who  comes  nearer  understand 
ing  the  sort  of  fire  and  flame  I'm  made  of " 

Nan  Lockhart  lay  back  upon  her  pillow.  "Fanny," 
she  said  despairingly,  "the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  to 
bed.  When  you  begin  to  talk  about  your  temperament 
you  make  me  want  to  give  you  a  cold  plunge  and  a  rub- 
down,  and  tie  an  ice-cap  on  your  head.  You've  probably 
been  saved  from  helping  Gary  Ray  make  a  fool  of  himself 
at  a  time  when  he  can't  afford  to  be  a  fool,  and  you'd 
better  be  thankful.  How  you  can  imagine  that  a  thing 
like  that  would  help  you  to  find  a  place  in  Robert  Black's 
good  graces " 

"Oh,  it's  gentle  Jane  who's  ace-high  with  him  just  now, 
of  course !"  Fanny  pulled  the  hairpins  out  of  her  hair  with 
vicious  twitches,  letting  the  whole  gleaming  fair  mass 
fall  upon  the  white  silk  of  the  luxurious  little  garment  in 
which  she  had  enveloped  herself  before  coming  to  Nan's 
room.  "He's  the  sort  who  was  born  to  rescue  the  fallen, 
and  serve  the  anxious  and  troubled.  He  acted  like  a 
regular  knight  to  Jane — not  that  he  said  much  to  her,  but 
one  could  see.  He  was  very  nice  to  me — too  nice.  I'd 


210  RED  AND  BLACK 

much  prefer  the  Jane-brand  of  his  chivalry — sort  of  an 
I'11-stand-in-front-of-you-and-take-the-blows  effect.  And 
when  he  went  off  with  Gary  and  Doctor  Burns,  and  I  was 
left  with  those  two  women  creatures " 

"My  dear,  I  can't  let  you  keep  speaking  of  Mrs.  Burns 
that  way.  She's  one  of  the  finest,  sweetest " 

"She's  a  peach!"  said  Fanny,  unexpectedly.  "I  admit 
I've  nothing  against  Mrs.  Burns  except  that  she  took  me 
to  a  dismal  violin  recital  when  I'd  awfully  wanted  to  see  a 
perfectly  ripping  play  Gary  had  tickets  for." 

"Not " 

Fanny  nodded.  "Of  course — why  not,  Miss  Prudy? 
I  didn't  mind  that  so  much,  though.  The  thing  I  minded 
was  Jane  Ray's  sleekness.  She  makes  me  think  of  one 
of  those  silky  black  cats  with  yellow  eyes " 

But  here  Nan  Lockhart  sat  up  in  bed,  fire  in  her  own 
steel-gray  eyes.  "Fanny  Fitch,  that's  enough!"  she  said, 
with  low  distinctness.  "Jane  Ray  is  my  friend." 

"I  thought  7  was!  This  is  so  sudden!"  And  quite 
unexpectedly,  even  to  herself,  Fanny  Fitch  began  to  cry, 
with  long,  sobbing  breaths.  Nan  slipped  out  of  bed, 
pulled  on  a  loose  gown  hanging  over  its  foot,  and  laid  hold 
of  Fanny. 

"Come!"  she  commanded,  firmly.  "I'm  going  to  put 
you  to  bed  and  give  Nature  a  chance  to  restore  those  ab 
surd  nerves  of  yours.  You  don't  want  Gary  Ray,  you 
can't  have  Robert  Black,  and  you  might  just  as  well  give 
in  and  take  that  perfectly  good  lover  of  yours  who  has  been 
faithful  to  you  all  these  years.  He  adores  you  enough  to 
put  up  with  the  very  worst  of  you,  and  he  ought  to  be 
rewarded  with  the  best  of  you.  You  know  absolutely 
that  you'd  be  the  most  miserable  girl  in  the  world  married 
to  a  man  of  Mr.  Black's  type " 


EVERYBODY  PLOTS  211 

Fanny  drew  a  deep  sigh,  her  head  on  Nan's  long-suffer 
ing  shoulder. 

"It'll  not  be  my  fault  if  I  don't  have  a  try  at  that  sort  of 
misery,"  she  moaned.  "And  I'll  do  it  yet,  see  if  I  don't! 
I  know  a  way! — Oh,  yes!  I  know  a  way!  Wait  and  see!" 

Nan  Lockhart  saw  her  finally  composed  for  sleep,  her 
fair  head  looking  like  a  captivating  cameo  against  her 
pillow,  her  white  arms  meekly  crossed  upon  her  breast. 
Fanny  looked  up  at  her  friend,  her  face  once  more  serene. 

"Don't  I  look  good  enough  now  for  just  anybody?"  she 
murmured. 

"You  look  like  a  young  stained-glass  angel,"  Nan  re 
plied,  grimly.  "But — since  you  were  so  unjust  as  to  com 
pare  Jane  Ray  to  a  silky  black  cat  I'll  tell  you  that  just 
now  you  make  me  think  of " 

"I  know — a  sleepy  white  one — with  a  saucer  of  cream 
near  by.  Good-night — saint!  I  don't  deserve  you,  but — 
I  love  you  just  the  same.  And  I  dare  you  to  tell  me  you 
don't  love  me!" 

"I'll  take  no  dares  of  yours  to-night.  Go  to  sleep — and 
please  let  me,  even  if  you  don't."  And  Nan  went  away 
and  closed  the  door. 

Back  in  her  own  room,  when  she  was  once  more  lying 
alone  in  the  dark,  Nan  said  to  herself,  with  a  sigh  deeper 
than  any  Fanny  Fitch  had  ever  drawn  in  all  her  gay  young 
life:  "What  a  queer  thing  it  is  to  be  able  to  wear  one's 
heart  on  one's  sleeve  like  that — and  not  even  mind  much 
when  the  daws  peck  at  it!'* 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  GREAT  GASH 

CONFOUND  you — pay  some  attention  to  me,  will 
you?  Do  you  get  what  I'm  saying?  Everything's 
in  train.  I've  only  to  take  my  physical  examination — 
papers  came  this  morning,  by  the  way — and  get  my 
passports,  and  I'm  off.  For  the  love  of  heaven,  what's 
the  matter  with  you,  Max  Buller?  Sitting  there  looking 
like  a  mollusc — like  a  barnacle  glued  to  a  rock — and  me 
having  transports  all  over  the  place!  Don't  you  know  a 
magnificently  happy  man  when  you  see  one — and  can't 
you- 

Red's  manner  suddenly  changed,  as  Dr.  Maxwell  Buller 
looked  up  at  him  with  an  expression  of  mingled  pain  and 
protest.  Red's  voice  softened,  his  smiling  lips  grew  sober. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Max,  old  man,"  he  said.  "You're 
in  trouble,  and  I'm  a  blind  ass — as  usual.  What's  the 
matter?  The  Throckmorton  case  gone  wrong,  after  all? 
Or  worse  things  befallen?  Come — out  with  it!" 

Buller  got  up.  He  was  Burns'  best  friend  in  the  pro 
fession — the  two  had  stood  together  since  the  earliest  days 
of  medical  school  and  hospital  training.  Buller  was  not 
a  brilliant  member  of  the  healing  fraternity,  but  a  steady- 
going,  conscientious,  doggedly  energetic  practitioner  on 
whose  sturdy  friendship  through  all  the  thick  and  thin  of 
the  regular  grind  Burns  was  accustomed  to  rely.  Never  a 
crisis  in  the  professional  affairs  of  either  man  but  he  called 


A  GREAT  GASH  213 

with  confidence  upon  the  bed-rock  reliability  of  the  other 
to  see  him  through. 

On  this  particular  morning,  Red,  bursting  with  the 
latest  developments  in  the  arrangements  he  was  pushing 
through  in  order  to  be  able  to  get  away  and  join  Dr.  John 
Leaver  at  an  American  hospital  in  France,  had  rushed  into 
Buller's  office  considerably  before  office  hours.  He  had 
shouted  his  plans  into  the  other's  ears — so  to  speak — • 
though  technically  he  had  not  much  raised  his  voice  above 
its  customary  low  professional  pitch.  The  whole  effect 
of  him,  none  the  less,  had  been  that  of  a  boy  roaring  at  a 
comrade  across  several  fences  that  he  had  been  given  a 
holiday  and  was  off  for  glorious  sport.  And  here  was  his 
trusty  comrade-in-arms  glowering  gloomily  back  at  him 
and  as  good  as  saying  that  he  grudged  him  his  luck  and 
hoped  he'd  have  the  worst  possible  time  of  it.  That  wasn't 
a  bit  like  Buller — good  old  Duller,  who  hadn't  a  selfish 
hair  on  his  head,  and  knew  no  such  thing  as  professional 
jealousy  where  R.  P.  Burns  was  concerned.  What  in  the 
name  of  time  was  the  matter  with  him? 

"I'd  no  idea,"  said  Buller,  at  last,  and  hesitating 
strangely,  "  the  thing  had  gone  so  far.  I  knew  you  thought 
of  going,  but " 

"But  what?  Haven't  I  been  talking  going  for  the  last 
year  and  a  half?  And  didn't  I  call  you  up  the  other  day 
when  I  got  Jack  Leaver's  cable  and  tell  you  I  meant  to 
put  it  through  post-haste?  Didn't  I " 

"Yes,  you've  told  me  all  about  it.  You'll  remember 
that  I've  said  a  good  deal  about  the  need  for  you  right 
here,  and  my  hope  that  you'd  delay  going  a  while  yet. 
I  think  I  said " 

"I  don't  know  what  you  said,"  Red  broke  in  impa 
tiently,  interrupting  Buller's  slower  speech  in  a  way  to 


2i4  RED  AND  BLACK 

which  the  other  was  well  used.  "I  was  much  too  busy 
talking  myself  to  notice  what  any  idiot  might  be  saying 
on  lines  like  those.  Good  Lord !  man,  you  knew  I'd  go  the 
minute  I  got  the  chance.  Why,  I'm  needed  over  there 
about  sixteen  thousand  times  more  than  I  am  here — 

Buller  shook  his  head,  his  unhappy  eyes  on  the  worn  rug 
of  his  office  floor.  The  shake  of  that  head  inflamed  Red 
into  wild  speech,  his  fist  clenched  and  brought  down  on 
Buller's  desk  till  bottles  jumped  and  papers  flew  off  into 
space.  Then,  suddenly,  he  brought  himself  up  short. 

"All  right,"  he  growled.  "I've  blown  off.  Now — ex 
plain  yourself,  if  you  can — which  I  doubt.  But  I  can  at 
least  give  you  the  chance." 

Buller  cleared  his  throat.  He  ran  his  hand  through 
the  rapidly  graying  locks  above  his  anxious  brow,  sat  down 
at  his  desk  again — as  though  it  might  be  a  little  easier  to 
say  what  he  had  to  say  in  this  customary  seat  of  the 
judge  delivering  sentence — and  looked  unwillingly  up  at 
his  friend.  Red  had  moved  up  and  closed  in  on  him  as 
he  sat  down,  towering  over  the  desk  like  a  defiant  prisoner. 

"Get  it  over,"  he  commanded  briefly. 

"I'll  try  to,  Red,  but — it's  hard  to  know  how  to  begin. 
.  .  .  .  You — suppose  you  let  me  go  over  you,  will 
you? — as  a  sort  of  preliminary  to  the  examination  the 
Government  surgeons  will  give  you." 

"What  for?  Do  you  think  I  can't  pass?  Is  that  what's 
bothering  you?"  A  relieved  laugh  came  with  the  words. 
"Me?"  He  smote  his  broad  chest  with  all  the  confidence 
in  the  world — and  Buller  winced  at  the  gesture.  "Why, 
I'm  strong  as  an  ox." 

Buller  opened  a  drawer  and  took  out  a  stethoscope. 

"Well — you  won't  mind "  he  said,  apologetically,  and 

came  around  the  desk  as  a  man  might  who  had  to  put  a 


A  GREAT  GASH  215 

pistol  to  the  head  of  a  beloved  dog,  and  was  dreading  the 
sound  of  the  shot. 

"All  right.  But  it's  about  the  foolest  thing  I  ever  knew 
you  to  put  up  to  me."  Red  pulled  off  his  coat,  stripped 
rapidly  to  the  waist,  and  presented  himself  for  the  inquisi 
tion. 

Two  minutes  of  absolute  silence  succeeded  during  which 
Buller  swallowed  twice  as  if  he  were  trying  to  get  rid  of  hk 
own  palate.  Then  he  stood  up  with  his  hand  on  Red's 
shoulder. 

"I'm — awfully  sorry,  lad,"  he  said — and  looked  it,  in  a 
fashion  the  other  could  not  doubt. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Do  you — remember  that  little  trouble  you  had  two 
years  ago?" 

"The— infection?" 

"Yes.     It's  left  its  mark." 

"What  do  you  mean!" 

"You're  all  right  for  good  solid  hard  work — here.  But 
- — you  aren't  quite  in  condition  to  meet  the — requirements 
of  the  Service.  You — you  couldn't  get  by,  Red." 

Buller  turned  away,  his  chunky,  square-fingered  hand 
slightly  unsteady  as  he  put  away  the  little  tell-tale  appa 
ratus  which  had  registered  the  hardest  fact  with  which  he 
had  ever  had  to  confront  a  patient — and  a  friend.  There 
was  a  full  minute's  silence  behind  him,  while  he  deliberately 
kept  his  back  turned,  unwilling  to  witness  the  first  coming 
to  grips  with  the  totally  unsuspected  revelation.  Then: 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  my  heart  isn't  all  right?"  came  in 
a  queer,  indignant  tone  which  Buller  knew  meant  only 
one  thing:  that  Red  minded  nothing  at  all  about  his 
physical  condition  except  as  it  was  bound  to  affect  the 
course  upon  which  he  had  set  out. 


216  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Not— exactly." 

"Oh,  quit  treating  me  like  a  scared  patient.  I  know 
you  think  you  heard " 

"I  did  hear  it,  Red.  There's  no  possible  doubt.  It's 
unquestionably  the  result  of  the  infection  of  two  years 
ago.  We  all  knew  it  then.  I  knew  I'd  find  it  now. 
That's  why " 

"I  see.  That's  why  you've  been  advising  me  not  to  go. 
My  place  was  here — knitting  /" 

Buller  was  silent.  His  broad,  kind  face  worked  a  little 
as  the  big  figure  crossed  the  room  to  the  window.  He 
could  look  up  now — Red's  back  was  toward  him. 

"Doesn't  the  amount  of  work  I  stand  up  under,  every 
earthly  day  and  night,  show  that  in  spite  of  your  blamed 
old  dissection  I  could  do  a  good  job  over  there  before  I 
cash  in — which,  of  course,  may  be  indefinitely  postponed  ? 
Nobody  knows  better  than  you  that  a  fellow  can  go  on 
working  like  a  fiend  for  years  with  the  rottenest  sort  of 
heart,  and  never  even  suspect  himself  that  there's  a  thing 
wrong " 

"I  know."  Buller's  voice  was  gentle  as  a  woman's. 
''But — first  you've  got  to  pass  the  stiffest  sort  of  Govern 
ment  tests,  Red — and " 

"And!  can't,  eh?" 

It  was  done — Max  Buller's  job.  He  didn't  have  to 
answer  that  last  question — which  was  no  question,  as  he 
well  knew.  There  was  finality  in  Red's  own  voice;  he  had 
accepted  the  fact.  He  knew  too  well  the  uselessness  of 
doubting  Buller's  judgment — the  other  man  was  too  well 
qualified  professionally  for  that.  Red  knew,  also,  as  well 
as  if  he  had  been  told  in  plain  language,  precisely  what  his 
own  condition  must  be.  Out  of  the  race  he  was — that 
was  all  there  was  to  it.  Still  fit  to  carry  heavy  burdens, 


A  GREAT  GASH  217 

capable  of  sustaining  the  old  routine  under  the  old  terms, 
but  unfit  to  take  his  place  among  the  new  runners  on  the 
new  track,  where  the  prize  was  to  be  greater  than  any 
he  had  ever  won.  And  his  splendid  body,  at  that  very 
minute,  seemingly  as  perfect  as  it  had  ever  been;  every 
function,  as  far  as  he  himself  could  be  aware,  in  the  smooth 
est  running  order!  He  could  not  even  be  more  than  usually 
conscious  of  the  beat  of  his  own  heart,  so  apparently 
undisturbed  it  was  by  this  intolerable  news;  while  his 
spirit,  his  unquenched  spirit,  was  giving  him  the  hardest 
tussle  of  his  life. 

Buller  was  wrong — he  must  be  wrong !  He  was  "  hearing 
things"  that  didn't  exist.  Red  wheeled  about,  the  incon 
sistent  accusation  on  his  lips.  It  died  at  sight  of  his 
friend.  Buller  was  slouched  down  in  his  swivel-chair, 
his  chin  on  his  breast,  his  head  propped  on  his  hand. 
Quite  clearly  Buller  was  taking  this  thing  as  hard — 
vicariously — as  Red  himself  — as  Buller  usually  took 
things  that  affected  Red  adversely.  Oh,  yes — the  old 
boy  knew — he  couldn't  be  fooled  on  a  diagnosis  like  that. 
Red  turned  back  to  the  window.  It  was  all  over — there 
was  no  possible  appeal.  .  .  . 

He  went  away  almost  immediately,  and  quite  silently. 
There  had  been  no  torrent  of  speech  since  the  blow  actually 
went  home.  The  red-headed  surgeon  with  Celtic  blood 
in  his  veins  could  be  quiet  enough  when  there  was  no  use 
saying  anything,  as  there  certainly  wasn't  now. 

Two  days  later  Robert  Black,  hurrying  down  the  street, 
traveling  bag  in  hand,  passed  the  office  of  Redfield  Pepper 
Burns  just  as  the  doctor's  car  drew  up  at  the  curb.  Black 
turned,  halted,  and  came  up  to  the  car.  Red  was  sitting 
still  in  it,  waiting  for  him,  the  unstopped  motor  throbbing 


2i 8  RED  AND  BLACK 

quietly.  Black  hadn't  seen  him  for  several  days,  but  the 
last  he  knew  Red  had  been  deep  in  his  preparation  for  an 
early  departure.  It  was  on  Black's  lips  to  say,  "How's 
everything  coming  on?" — knowing  that  no  other  subject 
had  any  interest  for  Red  compared  with  that.  But  Red 
spoke  first. 

"You've  got  to  know  sooner  or  later,"  he  said,  in  his 
gruffest  tone,  "so  you  might  as  well  know  now.  I'm  not 
going  over.  That's  all.  Can't  stop  to  talk  about  it." 
And  he  set  hand  to  gear-shift,  and  with  a  nod  was  off  again, 
leaving  Black  standing  looking  after  him,  feeling  as  if 
something  had  hit  him  between  the  eyes. 

As  he  walked  on,  after  a  moment,  his  mind  was  busy 
with  the  impressions  it  had  received  in  that  brief  en 
counter.  Red's  face  had  been  set  and  stern;  it  was  often 
that  when  he  was  worn  with  work  over  more  than  usually 
hard  cases.  His  eyes  had  looked  straight  at  Black  with 
his  customary  unevasive  gaze,  but — there  had  been  some 
thing  strange  in  that  look.  He  was  unhappy — desperately 
unhappy,  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  that.  What 
could  have  happened  so  suddenly  to  put  a  spoke  in  the 
rapidly  turning  wheels  of  his  plans?  Black  fell  to  puzzling 
over  it,  himself  growing  every  moment  more  disturbed. 
He  cared  tremendously  what  happened  to  Red;  he  found 
himself  caring  more  and  more  with  each  succeeding 
thought  about  it. 

He  was  on  his  way  to  the  station,  to  take  a  train  for  a 
distant  city,  where  was  to  be  held  a  reunion  of  his  seminary 
class  in  the  old  halls  of  their  training.  He  had  been  look 
ing  forward  to  it  for  weeks,  in  expectation  of  meeting  cer 
tain  classmates  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  six  years,  and 
some  of  whom  he  might  never  meet  again.  He  had  been 
exchanging  letter  after  letter  with  them  about  it,  and 


A  GREAT  GASH  219 

anticipating  the  event  with  the  ardour  with  which  most 
men  look  forward  to  such  reunions  at  that  period  in  life. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  go,  of  course;  though  by  now 
he  was  longing  intensely  to  follow  up  Red,  by  some  means, 
and  find  out  what  was  the  matter.  He  hadn't  liked  the 
look  in  those  hazel  eyes,  usually  so  full  of  spirit  and  pur 
pose;  the  more  he  thought  about  it  the  surer  he  grew  that 
Red  was  at  some  crisis  in  his  life,  and  that  he  needed  some- 
thing  he  hadn't  got  to  help  him  face  it.  Of  course  he  must 
be  horribly  disappointed  not  to  be  going  across,  oh,  des 
perately  disappointed!  But  there  was  more  than  that 
in  the  situation  to  make  him  look  like  that,  Black  was 
sure  of  it. 

His  feet  continued  to  move  toward  the  station,  his  eyes 
lifting  to  the  clock  upon  its  tower,  which  warned  him  that 
he  must  lose  no  time.  He  had  his  ticket  and  a  sleeper 
reservation — it  was  fifteen  hours'  journey  back  to  the 
old  ivy-covered  halls  which  had  grown  dearer  in  his  memory 
with  each  succeeding  year  of  his  absence.  He  was  think 
ing  that  he  couldn't  disappoint  Evans,  his  best  friend,  or 
Desboro,  his  old  college  chum  who  was  going  to  China 
on  the  next  ship  that  sailed;  such  appointments  were 
sacred — the  men  would  never  quite  forgive  him  if  he  threw 
them  over.  But  this  he  could  do:  he  could  go  on  for 
the  dinner  which  was  to  take  place  the  following  even 
ing,  and  then  catch  a  late  train  back,  cutting  the  rest 
of  the  program,  and  reaching  home  again  after  only  forty- 
eight  hours'  interval;  he  had  expected  to  be  absent  at 
least  five  days.  No,  he  couldn't,  either.  Desboro  was 
on  for  an  address,  that  second  evening,  for  which  he 
had  expressed  particular  hope  that  Black  would  remain. 
Desbero  was  a  sensitive  chap  and  he  was  going  to  China. 
Well— what 


220  RED  AND  BLACK 

His  train  had  been  called;  those  determined  feet  of  his 
took  him  toward  it,  though  his  mind  was  now  slowing  them 
perceptibly.  And  then,  suddenly,  his  will  took  charge 
of  the  matter — his  will,  and  his  love.  He  loved  Red 
Pepper  Burns — he  knew  it  now,  if  he  had  not  fully  known 
it  before;  loved  him  even  better  than  he  did  Desboro,  or 
Evans,  or  any  of  the  rest  of  them  for  whom  he  had  cared 
so  much  in  the  old  days.  And  Red  was  in  trouble.  Could 
he  leave  him  to  go  on  to  hear  Desboro's  speech,  or  wring 
Evans'  hand,  or  even  to  hear  a  certain  one  of  his  adored 
old  professors  say:  "I'm  especially  glad  to  see  you,  Black 

— I  want  to  hear  all  about  you "  a  probability  he 

had  been  happily  visualizing  as  worth  the  trip,  though  he 
should  get  nothing  more  out  of  it. 

He  turned  about  face  with  determination,  his  decision 
made.  What  was  a  class  reunion,  with  all  its  pleasures — 
and  its  disappointments,  too — compared  with  standing 
by  a  friend  who  needed  him  ?  The  consciousness  that  Red 
was  quite  as  likely  to  repel  as  to  welcome  him — more 
likely,  at  that — lent  no  hesitation  to  his  steps.  He  went 
back  to  the  ticket  windows,  succeeded  in  getting  his  money 
returned,  and  retraced  his  steps  to  the  manse  even  more 
rapidly  than  he  had  come  away  from  it.  It  was  only 
as  he  let  himself  in  at  the  door  that  he  remembered  that 
his  little  vacation  was  Mrs.  Hodder's  as  well,  and  that  at 
his  insistence  she  had  left  early  that  morning.  He  grinned 
rather  ruefully  at  this  thought;  so  it  was  to  be  burned 
toast  and  tinned  beans  again,  instead  of  banquet  food! 
Well,  when  a  fellow  was  making  sacrifices  for  a  friend,  let 
him  make  them  and  not  permit  the  thought  of  a  little  lost 
food  to  make  him  hesitate.  Banquets — and  beans — inter 
esting  alliteration!  And  now — to  find  out  about  Red 
without  loss  of  time. 


A  GREAT  GASH  221 

Ten  minutes  later  he  was  in  Red's  home,  standing,  hat  in 
hand,  before  Mrs.  Burns, whohadcometohim withoutdelay. 

"I  saw  your  husband  just  a  minute  this  morning,  and  he 
told  me  it  was  all  off  with  his  going  to  France.  That's 
all  he  said — except  that  he  had  no  time  to  talk  about  it. 
Of  course  I  understood  that  he  didn't  want  me  to  talk  about 
it.  But  something  in  his  looks  made  me  a  little  anxious. 
I  thought  you  wouldn't  mind  my  coming  to  you.  If  you 
don't  want  to  tell  me  anything  more,  Mrs.  Burns,  that's 
all  right.  But  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  if  anything  has 
happened  to  make  him — or  you — unhappy,  I  care  very 
much.  And  I  wish  I  could  help." 

Ellen  Burns  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  saw  there  all 
that  one  could  wish  to  see  in  a  friend's  face  when  one  is  in 
trouble.  She  answered  as  frankly  as  he  had  spoken,  and 
he  couldn't  help  seeing  that  his  coming  was  a  relief  to  her. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Black,"  she  said.  She 
remained  standing;  Black  thought  it  might  be  because  she 
was  too  ill  at  ease  in  mind  to  think  of  sitting  down.  "  I 
am  anxious  about  Red,  too,  because  he  doesn't  seem  at  all 
himself,  since  this  happened.  Two  days  ago  his  good  friend 
Doctor  Buller  told  him  there  was  no  chance  of  his  pass 
ing  the  physical  tests  necessary  for  getting  across,  on  ac 
count  of  trouble  with  his  heart — which  he  hadn't  even 
suspected.  He  was  very  ill  with  blood  poisoning  two 
years  ago.  The  disappointment  has  been  even  greater 
than  I  could  have  imagined  it  would  be;  he  has  never  set 
his  heart  on  anything  as  he  has  on  this  chance  to  be  of 
service  in  France.  Of  course  I  am  disappointed,  too — 
I  meant  to  follow  him  soon,  when  we  could  arrange  it. 
And — it  goes  without  saying — that  the  reason  which 
keeps  him  is  a  good  deal  of  a  blow  to  me." 

"Yes— of  course." 


222  RED  AND  BLACK 

She  was  speaking  very  quietly,  and  with  entire  control 
of  voice  and  manner,  and  the  sympathetic  understanding 
in  his  tone  did  not  undermine  her,  because  there  was  no 
weakness  in  it. 

"But — we  have  accepted  it;  there's  nothing  else  to  do. 
Doctor  Buller  says  it  doesn't  mean  that  Red  can't  go  on 
working  as  hard  as  ever,  for  a  long  time — here.  But  that 
doesn't  help  him  any,  just  yet.  He  has  been  in — a  mood — 
so  dark  ever  since  he  knew,  that  even  I  can't  seem  to 
lighten  it.  And  just  before  you  came  I  found — this. 
It — does  make  me  anxious,  Mr.  Black,  because  I  don't 
quite  know " 

She  put  her  hand  into  a  fold  of  her  dress  and  brought 
out  a  leaf  from  the  daily  memorandum  pad  with^a  large 
sized  date  at  the  top,  which  was  accustomed  to  lie  on  Red's 
desk.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  leaving  upon  it,  each  time  he 
went  out,  a  list  of  calls,  or  a  statement  regarding  his  where 
abouts,  that  his  office  nurse  or  his  wife  might  have  no  diffi 
culty  in  finding  him  in  case  of  need.  In  the  present  in 
stance  the  page  was  well  covered  with  the  morning  and 
afternoon  lists  of  his  regular  rounds,  including  an  early 
morning  operation  at  the  hospital.  But  the  latest  entry 
was  of  a  different  character.  At  the  very  bottom  of  the 
sheet,  in  the  only  space  left,  was  scrawled  the  usual  pre 
liminary  phrase,  followed  by  a  long  and  heavy  dash,  so 
that  the  effect  of  the  whole  was  inevitably  suggestive  of  a 
reckless  mood:  "Gone  to " 

Black  studied  this  for  some  seconds  before  he  lifted  his 
eyes.  "It  may  mean  nothing  at  all,"  he  said,  as  quietly 
as  Mrs.  Burns  had  spoken,  "except  the  reflection  of  his 
unhappiness.  I  can't  think  it  could  mean  anything  else. 
Just  the  same" — and  now  he  looked  at  the  lovely  face 
before  him,  to  see  in  it  that  he  might  offer  to  do  anything 


A  GREAT  GASH  223 

at  all  which  could  mean  help  for  Red — "I  think  I'd  like 
to  find  him  for  you — and  I  will.  I'm  sure  I  can,  even 
though  you  don't  know  where  he  has  gone.  Can  you 
guess  at  all  where  it  might  be?" 

"He  had  the  car,"  she  said,  considering,  "and  he's  very 
apt,  when  things  have  gone  wrong,  to  get  off  out  of  doors 
somewhere — alone — though  he's  quite  as  likely  to  work 
off  his  trouble  by  driving  at  a  furious  pace  over  miles  and 
miles  of  road.  I've  known  him  to  jump  out  of  the  car  and 
dash  off  into  the  woods,  in  some  place  I'd  never  seen 
before,  and  come  back  all  out  of  breath  and  laughing,  and 
say  he'd  left  it  all  behind.  I  think,  perhaps,  that's  what 
he's  doing  now.  I  hope  he'll  come  back  laughing  this  time, 
though  I — I  can't  help  wishing  he'd  taken  me  with  him." 

"I  wish  he  had."  Black  thought  he  had  never  seen  a 
woman  take  a  thing  like  this  with  so  much  sense  and  cour 
age.  How  could  Red  have  left  her  behind,  he  wondered, 
just  now,  when  she  could  do  so  much  for  him?  Or — 
couldn't  she?  Could  any  woman,  no  matter  how  finely 
understanding,  do  for  him  quite  what  another  man  could — 
a  man  who  would  know  better  than  any  woman  just  what 
it  must  mean  to  have  the  foundations  suddenly  knocked 
out  from  under  him  like  that  ?  "  But,"  he  went  on  quickly, 
"I  don't  think  it  will  be  difficult  to  find  him  because — 
there's  a  way.  And  I'm  going  now,  to  try  it.  Don't  be 
worried.  I  have  a  strong  feeling  that  your  husband  is 
coming  out  of  this  a  bigger  man  even  than  when  it  hit 
him — he's  that  sort  of  man."  He  was  silent  an  instant,  and 
then  went  on:  "And  he  won't  do  anything  God  doesn't 
mean  him  to  do — because  he  isn't  that  sort  of  man.  He's 
not  afraid  of  death — but  he  isn't  afraid  of  life,  either. 
Good-bye — it's  going  to  be  all  right." 

They  smiled  at  each  other,  heartened,  both,  by  the 


224  RED  AND  BLACK 

thought  of  action.  Black  got  away  at  once.  It  was,  by 
now,  well  after  six  o'clock.  He  had  had  no  dinner,  but  it 
didn't  occur  to  him  to  look  out  for  food  before  he  started 
on  the  long  walk  he  meant  to  take.  For,  somehow,  he  was 
suddenly  quite  sure  he  knew  where  to  go.  ... 

He  had  guessed  right.  Was  it  a  guess?  As  he  had 
walked  at  his  best  speed  out  of  the  town  and  over  the  high 
way  toward  the  road  upon  which  Red  had  taken  him  that 
winter  night,  months  ago,  he  had  been  saying  over  and 
over,  "Don't  let  me  be  wrong,  Lord — you  know  I've  got 
to  find  him!"  He  was  remembering  something  Red  had 
said  when  he  first  led  him  up  the  trail  and  out  upon  the 
rocky  little  plateau:  "This  is  a  place  I've  never  brought 
anybody  to — not  even  my  wife,  as  it  happens — and  prob 
ably  wouldn't  be  bringing  you  if  we  had  time  to  go  farther. 
I  come  here  sometimes — to  thrash  things  out,  or  get  rid 
of  my  ugly  temper.  The  place  is  littered  with  my  chips." 

He  recalled  answering,  "All  right,  Doctor.  I  won't  be 
looking  for  the  chips."  But  he  had  thoroughly  appreciated 
being  brought  to  the  spot  at  all,  recognizing  it  for  one  of 
those  intimate  places  in  a  man's  experience  which  he  keeps 
very  much  to  himself.  Where,  now,  would  Red  be  so 
likely  to  go  if  he  had  something  still  to  "thrash  out," 
after  the  two  days  of  storm  following  the  shock  of  Doctor 
Buller's  revelation? 

At  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  well-hidden  in  a  thicket  of 
trees,  Black  came  upon  the  car — and  suddenly  slowed  his 
pace.  He  was  close  upon  Red,  then,  and  about  to  thrust 
himself  in  where  he  was  pretty  sure  not  to  be  wanted — at 
first.  He  meant  to  make  himself  wanted,  if  he  knew  how. 
Did  he  know  how?  Ah,  that  was  where  he  must  have  help. 
It  was  going  to  take  more  than  human  wisdom,  thus  to 


A  GREAT  GASH  225 

try  to  deal  with  the  sore  heart,  the  baffled  spirit,  of  the 
man  who  couldn't  have  his  own  way  at  what  doubtless 
seemed  to  him  the  greatest  moment  of  his  life.  Black 
stopped  short,  close  to  a  great  oak,  and  put  up  his  arm 
against  it,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  arm,  and  asked  God 
mightily  that  in  this  hour  He  would  use  His  servant's 
personality  as  He  would  use  a  tool  in  His  workshop,  and 
show  him  how  to  come  as  close  and  touch  as  gently — and 
withal  as  healingly — as  it  might  be  possible  for  human 
personality  to  do  when  backed  and  reinforced  by  the 
Divine.  A  pretty  big  request?  Yes,  but  the  need  was 
big.  And  Black  didn't  put  it  in  any  such  exalted  phrasing 
— remember  that.  What  he  said  was  just  this:  "Please 
let  me  help.  I  must  help,  for  he  needs  me — and  I  don't 
know  how.  But  You  do — and  You  can  show  me." 

Then,  after  a  minute,  he  went  on,  springing  up  the  trail, 
which  was  plain  enough  now,  even  in  the  fading  daylight, 
to  be  easily  followed.  As  he  reached  the  top  he  came  in 
sight  of  Red  through  the  trees,  and  stopped  short,  not  so 
much  to  regain  his  breath  as  because  the  sight  of  the  man 
he  had  come  to  find  made  his  heart  turn  over  in  sympathy, 
and  for  that  instant  he  couldn't  go  on. 

Yet  Red  was  in  no  dramatic  attitude  of  despair.  To 
the  casual  eye  he  would  have  looked  as  normal  as  man 
could  look.  He  sat  upon  a  log — one  of  two,  facing  each 
other,  with  a  pile  of  blackened  sticks  and  ashes  between, 
reminiscent  of  past  campfires.  There  had  been  no  fire 
there  recently — no  spark  lingered  to  tell  the  tale  of  warmth 
and  light  and  comradeship  that  may  be  found  in  a  fire. 
And  what  Red  was  doing  was  merely  whittling  a  stick. 
Surely  no  tragedy  was  here,  or  fear  of  one.  .  .  .  The 
thing  that  told  the  tale,  though,  unmistakably,  to  Black's 
sharpened  eyes,  was  this:  that  the  ground  was  littered 


226  RED  AND  BLACK 

deep,  all  about  Red's  feet,  with  the  fresh  whittlings  of 
many  sticks.  "Chips,"  indeed!  Chips  out  of  his  very 
life,  Black  knew  they  were;  hewed  away  ruthlessly,  with 
no  regard  as  to  what  was  left  behind  in  the  cutting,  or  what 
was  made  thereof. 

He  could  not  stand  and  look  on,  unobserved,  of  course. 
So  he  came  on,  striding  ahead;  and  when  Red  at  last  looked 
up  it  was  to  see  Black  advancing  confidently,  as  a  friend 
comes  to  join  a  friend.  Red  stared  across  the  space;  his 
eyes  looked  dazed,  and  a  little  bloodshot. 

"I've  come,"  said  Black,  simply,  "because,  Red,  I 
thought  you  needed  me.  Maybe  you  don't  want  me,  but 
I  think  you  need  me,  and  I'm  hoping  you  won't  send  me 
away.  I  don't  think  I'll  go  if  you  do." 

Red's  odd,  almost  unseeing  gaze  returned  to  the  stick 
in  his  hand.  He  cut  away  two  or  three  more  big  chunks 
from  it,  leaving  it  an  unsightly  remnant;  then  flung  it 
away,  to  join  the  other  jagged  remnants  upon  the 
ground. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  voice  quite  unlike  his  own, 
"I  guess  maybe  I  do." 

Black's  heart  leaped.  He  had  not  expected  a  reception 
like  this.  To  be  kicked  out — metaphorically — or  to  be 
ungraciously  permitted  to  remain — that  was  the  best  he 
could  have  hoped  for.  He  sat  down  upon  the  other 
log,  took  off  his  hat  and  ran  his  hand  through  the  locks 
on  his  moist  brow;  he  was  both  warm  and  tired,  but  he 
was  not  in  the  least  conscious  of  either  fact.  All  he  knew 
or  cared  for  was  that  he  had  found  his  man — and  had  his 
chance  at  last!  And  now  that  he  had  it — the  chance  he 
had  so  long  wanted,  to  make  this  man  he  loved  his  friend 
forever — he  was  not  thinking  of  that  part  of  his  wish  at 
all.  He  had  got  beyond  that;  all  he  wanted  now  was  to 


A  GREAT  GASH  227 

see  him  through  his  trouble,  though  it  might  make  him 
less  his  friend  than  ever. 

The  two  sat  in  silence  for  a  minute.  Then  Red  spoke. 
With  an  odd  twist  of  the  mouth  he  pointed  to  an  axe 
lying  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  not  far  away.  Above  it,  in 
the  trunk,  showed  a  great  fresh  gash,  the  beginning  of  a 
skilled  woodsman's  work  upon  a  tree  which  he  means  to 
fell. 

"I  began  to  chop  down  that  tree,"  he  said,  in  the  same 
queer,  hoarse  voice.  "That's  what  I've  always  done — 
when  the  pressure  got  too  high.  Then — I  remembered. 
If  I  chopped  it  down,  I  might — end  things.  There's  no 
telling.  Buller  says  my  machinery's  got  past  the  chopping 
point — it's  time  to  take  to  whittling.  So — I'm  whittling 
—as  you  see." 

"I  see,"  said  Black.  He  spoke  cheerfully — there  was 
no  pity  in  his  voice.  In  his  eyes — but  Red  was  not  looking 
at  those. 

"That's  why,"  went  on  Red,  after  a  minute,  "I'm  not 
going  to  France.  They  don't  need  whittlers  over  ther.V 

"Do  you  think  you're  a  whittler?" 

"What  else?" 

"You  don't  look  much  like  one — to  me." 

"Don't  say  that  to  me!"  challenged  Red,  with  a  touch 
of  the  old  fire.  "There's  no  cure  for  my  hurt  in  the 
thought  that  I  can  keep  on  working — over  here — until 
the  machinery  breaks  down  entirely — which  may  not  be 
for  a  good  while  yet.  I  want  what  I  want — and  I  can't 
have  it.  What  I  can  have's  no  good  compared  with 
that.  It  may  look  good  to  you — it  doesn't  to  me.  That's 
all  there  is  of  it." 

"You  don't  look  like  a  whittler  to  me,"  Black  repeated, 
sturdily.  "You  look  like  a  tree  chopper.  I  can't — and 


228  RED  AND  BLACK 

won't — think  of  you  any  other  way.  .  .  I  wish  you'd 
put  up  that  knife!" 

Red  stared  at  him.  "Make  you  nervous?"  he  ques 
tioned. 

"It  makes  you  nervous.  Put  it  up.  Play  with  the 
axe,  if  you  like;  that's  more  in  character." 

The  two  looked  each  other  in  the  eye  for  a  minute. 
The  clear  gaze  of  Black  met  the  bloodshot  one  of  Red. 

"Here — I'll  get  it  for  you,"  offered  Black,  and  got  up 
and  went  over  and  picked  up  the  axe,  its  blade  shining,  its 
edge  keen  as  one  of  Red's  instruments.  Black  ran  his 
fingers  cautiously  along  it.  "I  suppose  no  surgeon  ever 
owned  a  dull  axe,"  he  commented,  as  he  brought  it  to 
Red.  "This  would  cut  a  hair,  I  think.  Take  it — and 
put  up  the  knife  to  please  me,  will  you?" 

"Anything  to  oblige."  Grimly  Red  accepted  the  axe, 
snapped  the  knife  shut  and  dropped  it  into  his  pocket. 
"Anything  else?  Going  to  preach  to  me  now  with  the  axe 
for  a  text?" 

"I  think  so.  I'm  glad  you're  ready.  But  the  axe  won't 
do  for  a  text — nor  even  for  an  illustration.  I've  got  that 
here.**  He  put  his  hand  to  his  pocket  and  drew  out  a 
little,  worn,  leather-bound  Book,  over  which  he  looked 
with  a  keen,  fearless  gaze  at  Red.  "See  here,"  he  said. 
"I  could  try  a  lot  of  applied  psychology  leading  up 
to  this  little  Book — and  you'd  recognize,  all  the  way,  that 
that  was  what  I  was  doing.  What's  the  use?  When  you 
go  to  see  a  patient,  and  know  by  the  look  of  him  and  the 
few  things  he  tells  you  what's  the  matter,  you  don't  lead 
up  by  degrees  to  giving  him  the  medicine  he  needs,  do 
you?  Not  you!  You  write  your  prescription  on  the 
spot,  and  say  'Take  this.'  And  he  takes  it  and  gets 
well." 


A  GREAT  GASH  229 

"Or  dies — if  I'm  out  of  luck.  It  isn't  the  medicine  that 
decides  it,  either  way.  It's  his  own  power  of  resistance. 
So  your  simile's  no  good." 

Black  nodded.  This  sounded  to  him  somewhat  more 
like  the  old  Red.  "Yours  is,  then,"  he  said.  "It's  your 
power  of  resistance  I'm  calling  on.  You  used  it  just  now — 
when  you  stopped  chopping  at  that  tree.  Do  you  think 
I  don't  know — you  wanted  to  keep  on,  and  take  the  pos 
sible  consequences — which  you  almost  hoped — or  thought 
you  hoped — would  be  the  probable  ones?" 

And  now  Red's  startled  eyes  met  his.  "My  God!"  he 
ejaculated,  and  got  to  his  feet  quickly,  dropping  the  axe. 
He  strode  away  among  the  trees  for  a  minute,  then  came 
slowly  back. 

"Do  you  think,  Bob  Black,"  he  demanded,  "you  dare 
tackle  a  case  like  mine?  I  see  you  know  what  I'm  up 
against.  Do  you  imagine  there's  anything  in  that  Book 
there  that — fits  my  case?"  And  Black  saw  that  his 
eyes  looked  hungrily  at  the  little  Book — as  men's  eyes 
have  looked  since  it  was  given  shape.  When  there  is 
nowhere  else  to  go  for  wisdom,  even  the  most  unwonted 
hands  open  the  Book — and  find  there  what  they  honestly 
seek. 

"I  know  there  is."  Black  opened  the  Book — it  fell  open 
easily,  as  one  much  used.  He  looked  along  its  pages,  as 
one  familiar  with  every  line.  It  took  but  a  moment  to 
find  the  words  he  sought.  In  a  clear,  quiet  voice  he  read 
the  great,  brave  words  of  Paul  the  apostle: 

"Know  ye  not  that  they  which  run  in  a  race  run  all,  but  one 
receiveth  the  prize?  So  run,  that  ye  may  obtain. 

And  every  man  that  striveth  for  the  mastery  is  temperate  in 
all  things.  Now  they  do  it  to  obtain  a  corruptible  crown;  but 
we  an  incorruptible 


230  RED  AND  BLACK 

I  therefore  no  run,  not  as  uncertainly;  so  fight  I,  not  as  one 
that  beateth  the  air: 

But  I  keep  under  my  body,  and  bring  it  into  subjection,  lest 
that  by  any  means,  when  I  have,  preached  to  others,  I  myself 
should  be  a  castaway." 

A  long  silence  followed  the  reading  of  these  words. 
Suddenly  it  had  seemed  to  Robert  Black  that  nothing  he 
could  say  could  possibly  add  to  the  splendid  challenge  of 
them  to  a  flagging  human  spirit.  Almost  immediately 
upon  reading  the  last  word  he  had  walked  away — he  had 
risen  to  read  them,  as  if  such  words  could  be  said  only  by  a 
man  upon  his  feet.  He  was  gone  for  perhaps  ten  minutes, 
and  all  the  while  his  heart  was  back  there  by  the  ashes  of 
the  dead  campfire  with  Red — fighting  alone,  as  a  man 
must  fight,  no  matter  how  his  friend  would  help  him. 
Somehow  Black  was  sure  that  he  was  fighting — it  was 
not  in  Red — it  couldn't  be — to  lay  down  his  arms. 
Or,  if  he  had  in  this  one  black  hour  laid  them  down,  it 
would  be  to  take  them  up  again — it  must  be  so.  All 
Black's  own  dogged  will,  plus  his  love  and  his  faith  in  God 
and  in  this  man,  were  back  there  in  the  woods  with 
Red. 

By  and  by  he  went  back  himself.  Red  was  no  longer 
sitting  on  the  log,  he  was  standing  by  a  tree,  at  the  edge 
of  the  plateau,  looking  off  through  a  narrow  vista  at  the 
blue  hills  in  the  distance  all  but  veiled  now  in  the  dimness 
of  the  coming  night.  At  the  sound  of  Black's  footsteps 
on  the  snapping  twigs  he  turned. 

"Well,  lad,"  he  said,  in  a  weary  voice  which  was  yet 
quite  his  own,  "I  guess  you've  won  out  over  my  partic 
ular  personal  devil  this  time.  I  have  'preached  to  others' — 
I  expect  I've  got  to  stand  by  my  own  preaching  now.  It's 
all  right.  I'd  got  too  used  to  having  my  own  way — or 


' '/  suppose  no  surgeon  ever  owned  a  dull  axe'  com 
mented  Black.  'Take  it  and  put  up  the  knife  to  please  me, 
will  you? ' ' 


A  GREAT  GASH  231 

forcing  it — that's  all.  I'll  try  to  take  my  medicine  like 
a  man.  Fve  been  taking  it — like  a  coward.  Now — 
we'll  say  no  more  about  it." 

"Not  another  word.  Except — would  you  mind  if  I 
built  a  little  fire,  and  burned  up  those  chips?" 

"I  wish  you  would." 

With  quick  motions  Black  made  a  heap  of  them  on  the 
old  campfire  ashes,  touched  them  off  with  the  match  Red 
silently  handed  him — he  had  matches  of  his  own,  but  he 
took  Red's — and  stood  looking  down  into  the  curling 
flames.  The  clips  burned  as  merrily  and  brilliantly  as  if 
they  had  not  been  the  signs  of  human  despair,  and  the 
two  men  watched  till  the  small  fire  had  burned  down  to  a 
last  orange  glow  of  embers. 

Then  Black,  taking  off  his  hat,  said  in  a  way  so  simple 
that  the  listening  ears  could  not  want  to  be  stopped  from 
the  sound  of  the  words:  "Please,  Lord,  help  us  to  run, 
'not  uncertainly'  nor  fight,  as  those  that  'beat  the  air.' 
Give  us  faith  and  courage  for  the  long  way — and  bring  us 
to  the  end  of  the  course,  by  and  by — but  not  till  we  have 
'run  a  good  race — all  the  way.  Amen." 

Still  silently,  after  that,  the  two  went  down  the  trail, 
now  in  deep  shadow.  Red  went  first,  to  lead  the  way, 
and  Black  noted  with  joy  that  he  plunged  along  down  the 
trail  with  much  his  old  vigour  of  step.  At  almost  the  bot 
tom  he  suddenly  halted  and  turned: 

"See  here,  Bob  Black,"  he  said,  accusingly.  "I  thought 
you  were  on  your  way  to  the  station  when  I  saw  you  this 
morning.  Weren't  you  off  for  those  doings  at  your  old 
Alma  Mater  you've  been  counting  on  ?" 

"I  changed  my  mind." 

"What!    After  you  saw  me?" 

"Of  course." 


232  RED  AND  BLACK 

There  was  an  instant's  stunned  silence  on  the  red-headed 
doctor's  part,  broken  by  Black's  laugh. 

"One  would  think  you  never  gave  up  a  play  or  a  good 
dinner  or  almost  anything  you'd  wanted,  to  go  and  set  a 
broken  leg — or  to  reduce  a  dislocated  shoulder  before 
breakfast!" 

But  when  Red  finally  spoke  the  hoarseness  was  back 
in  his  voice — only  it  seemed  to  be  a  different  sort  of 
hoarseness: 

"What  did  you  do  it  for?" 

"I  think  you  know.  Because  I  wanted  to  stand  by 
you." 

Red  turned  again,  and  began  to  go  on  down  the  trail. 
But  at  the  bottom  he  once  more  stopped  short. 

"Lad,"  he  said,  with  some  diffidence,  "there's  a  story 
in  that  Book  of  yours — the  other  part  of  it — that  always 
interested  me,  only  I  didn't  think  there  were  many  ex 
amples  of  that  sort  of  standing  by  in  present  days.  I 
begin  to  think  there  may  be  one  or  two." 

"Which  story  is  that?"  Black  asked,  eagerly — though 
he  concealed  the  eagerness. 

"That — I'll  have  to  leave  you  to  guess!"  said  the  other 
man — and  said  not  another  word  all  the  way  home.  He 
sent  the  car  at  its  swiftest  pace  along  the  road,  took  Black 
to  his  own  door,  held  his  hand  for  an  instant  in  a  hard 
grip,  said  "Good-night!"  in  his  very  gruffest  tone,  and 
left  him. 

But  Black  had  guessed.  And  he  had  won  his  friend — 
for  good  and  all,  now — he  was  sure  of  that.  How  could 
it  be  otherwise? 


CHAPTER  XIV 
SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER 

My  DEAR  ROBERT  BLACK: — 

Where  do  you  suppose  your  letter  reached  me,  telling  me  of 
your  rapidly  maturing  plans  to  go  to  France?  At  a  place  not 
fifty  miles  away  from  you,  where  I  have  taken  a  small  seaside 
cottage  for  the  summer!  Yes,  I  did  it  deliberately,  hoping  it 
might  mean  that  I  should  see  you  often — for  I  have  missed  you 
more  than  I  quite  venture  to  tell  you.  And  now — I  am  not  to 
see  you  after  all,  for  you  are  to  be  off  at  almost  any  time.  My 
disappointment  is  as  great  as  my  pride  in  you — and  my  joy  that 
you  are  responding  to  this  greatest  need  of  our  time.  I  know  you 
will  fully  understand  this  seeming  paradox. 

Since  I  have  no  son  to  send — and  you  no  mother  to  send  you — 
and  since,  as  you  well  know,  you  have  come  to  seem  more  like  a 
son  to  me  than  I  could  have  thought  possible  after  the  loss  of  my 
own — won't  you  spend  at  least  a  day  with  me — right  away,  lest 
your  summons  to  join  your  regiment  arrive  sooner  than  you 
expect?  Please  wire  or  telephone  me — as  soon  as  you  receive 
this,  won't  you? — that  you  are  coming.  I  have  my  faithful 
Sarah  with  me,  so  you  are  assured  of  certain  good  things  to  eat 
for  which  I  recall  your  fondness.  But  I  am  very  sure  that 
I  do  not  have^to  bribe  you  to  do  this  kind  thing  for  an  old 
woman  who  cares  for  you  very  much.  I  know  that  Scotch 
heart  of  yours  — cool  enough  on  the  outside  to  deceive  the  very 
elect,  but  warm  within  with  a  great  friendliness  for  all  who 
need  you. 

With  the  belief  that  a  long  talk  together  will  do  away  with  the 
need  for  a  further  exchange  of  letters  just  now,  I  am,  as  always, 
Faithfully  and  affectionately  yours, 

MARIE  L'ARMAND  DEVOE. 

233 


234  RED  AND  BLACK 

Sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  study  desk  Black  had 
eagerly  read  this  letter,  written  in  a  firm  hand  full  of 
character,  not  at  all  indicative  of  its  being  the  penman 
ship  of  "  an  old  woman."  His  face  had  lighted  with  pleas- 
sure,  and  he  had  laid  the  letter  down  only  to  turn  to  con 
sult  his  schedule  of  work  for  the  week.  This  was  Monday, 
the  only  day  he  was  accustomed  to  try  to  keep  free  for 
himself — usually  with  small  success,  it  must  be  acknowl 
edged.  But  at  least  there  was  no  engagement  for  the 
evening,  and  it  was  the  only  evening  of  the  week  of  which 
that  could  be  said. 

During  the  next  half-hour  he  did  some  telephoning, 
held  a  brief  interview  with  Mrs.  Hodder,  wrote  a  short 
letter,  then  was  off  for  his  train.  He  had  decided  to  take 
a  local  into  the  city  earlier  than  was  necessary  to  make 
his  connection,  in  order  that  he  might  be  safely  away  be 
fore  anything  happened  to  detain  him.  This  would  give 
him  an  hour  to  spare  there  before  he  could  get  the  second 
train,  which  would  bring  him  within  walking  distance  of 
the  little  seaside  village  and  his  friend's  new  summer  home. 
He  would  call  her  up  from  the  city;  he  had  not  yet  had 
time  to  do  it.  He  was  glad  of  the  extra  hour  in  which  to 
draw  breath  and  congratulate  himself  that  this  Monday 
was  to  be  a  real  day  of  rest.  He  was  obliged  to  admit  to 
himself  that  it  would  taste  rather  good.  What  with 
preaching  and  parish  work  doggedly  kept  up  to  the  cus 
tomary  standard,  while  he  had  been  at  the  same  time  deep 
in  the  involved  details  of  securing  his  chance  to  go  over 
seas — which  now  was  practically  assured — he  was  feeling 
just  a  trifle  played  out  on  this  warm  July  morning. 

Turning  a  corner  just  before  he  reached  the  station, 
he  came  suddenly  upon  Jane  Ray.  Though  her  answering 
smile  was  bright  enough,  he  thought  he  saw  in  her  face 


SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER        235 

a  reflection  of  the  weariness  of  which  he  himself  was  mo 
mently  more  conscious.  The  heat  for  several  weeks  now 
had  been  unusually  trying.  Jane  had  been  quite  as 
busy  as  Black  himself  with  the  arranging  to  dispose  of  her 
business  preparatory  to  going  abroad.  She,  too,  had  found 
— or  made — her  chance.  It  looked  as  if  she  might  get 
off  before  any  of  them — except  Gary,  who  was  due  to  go 
now  at  any  time. 

Black  stopped  short,  in  the  shade  of  a  great  elm. 

"I  haven't  seen  you  for  two  weeks,"  he  said.  "That 
ought  to  be  excuse  enough  for  stopping  you  now?  I 
suppose  you  know  I've  been  around  twice — only  to  find 
the  shop  locked,  and  the  bell  apparently  out  of  commission, 
for  it  produced  nobody." 

"I'm  sorry,"  protested  Jane.  "I  found  your  card  both 
times.  If  I  hadn't  been  so  busy " 

"I  know."  He  looked  searchingly  down  into  her  face, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  it  certainly  looked  a  little  worn. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  lavender  of  the  crisp  linen  dress  which 
sent  trying  reflections  into  her  usually  warm-tinted  cheeks. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  excessive  heat,  which  incidentally  was 
doing  its  best  to  make  her  smooth  hair  curl  riotously  about 
her  ears  in  a  particularly  girlish  fashion.  "Yes,  we've 
both  been  busy,"  he  agreed.  "  But  that  doesn't  make  two 
weeks  seem  any  shorter  to  me.  I'm  going  out  of  town 
for  the  day,  but  with  your  permission  I'll  try  that  door 
bell  soon  again.  All  at  once,  some  day,  either  you  or 
I  will  get  that  call,  and  then — think  of  all  the  things  we'll 
wish  we  had  had  time  to  say!" 

"Perhaps!  Meanwhile,  if  you're  catching  the  9:30, 
Mr.  Black,  let  me  warn  you  that  the  station  clock  is  two 
minutes  slow.  I  lost  a  train  by  it  only  yesterday." 

Thus  she  had  sent  him  off,  for  even  as  she  spoke  the 


236  RED  AND  BLACK 

whistle  of  the  approaching  local  was  heard  down  the  line, 
and  Black  had  only  time  to  take  a  hasty  leave  of  her  and 
run  to  the  platform,  with  no  chance  to  buy  his  ticket 

Standing  on  the  rear  platform,  as  the  train  went  on — 
the  inside  of  the  car  had  been  unbearably  hot — he 
looked  back  down  the  long  street  and  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Jane's  lavender  linen  disappearing  in  the  distance.  He 
strained  his  eyes  to  see  it,  visualizing  clearly  the  face  into 
which  he  had  just  been  looking.  It  was  a  face  which  had 
a  way  of  coming  before  that  vision  of  his  many  times  when 
he  was  attempting  to  occupy  himself  with  necessary  work, 
and  of  interfering  seriously,  now  and  then,  with  his  powers 
of  concentration.  There  was  something  about  the  level 
lines  of  Jane's  eyebrows,  the  curve  of  her  cheek,  the  shape 
of  her  mouth,  which  peculiarly  haunted  the  memory,  he 
had  found.  It  was  astonishingly  easy,  also,  to  recall  the 
tones  of  her  somewhat  unusual  voice,  a  voice  with  a  'cello- 
like  low  resonance  in  it;  easy  to  recall  it  and  easier  yet 
to  wish  to  hear  it  again.  He  found  himself  suffering  from 
this  wish  just  now,  and  rather  poignantly. 

Whose  fault  was  it  that  he  had  not  seen  Jane  for  two 
weeks?  Since  she  must  have  known  by  his  two  calls  that 
he  wanted  to  see  her,  why  hadn't  she  let  him  know  he 
might  come  again?  The  time  was  getting  so  horribly 
short — the  call  for  one  or  other  of  them  might  come  so 
soon.  And  then  what?  He  was  realizing  keenly  that 
when  the  chance  of  turning  a  corner  and  meeting  her,  of 
going  to  her  shop  and  seeing  her,  of  calling  her  upon  the 
wire  and  hearing  her — was  gone,  perhaps  forever — well- 
suddenly  the  thought  became  insufferable.  He  must  do 
something  about  it,  and  that  at  once!  He  must  do  it  to 
day.  What  could  it  be,  since  he  was  on  his  way  out  of 
town? 


SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER        237 

i 

His  thoughts  went  on  rapidly.  He  made  a  plan,  a  dar 
ing  one — rejected  it  as  too  daring — decided  that  it  wasn't 
half  daring  enough!  What  was  the  use  of  never  doing 
anything  because  there  might  be  some  possible  and  remote 
reason  why  it  wasn't  best?  This  infinite  and  everlasting 
caution  suddenly  irked  him — as  it  had  many  times  before 
in  his  experience — irked  him  till  it  became  unbearable. 
He  would  carry  out  his  plan — his  end  of  it.  If  Jane 

wouldn't  carry  out  her  end Well,  anyhow  he  would 

put  it  up  to  her.  Thank  heaven,  he  had  that  hour  to 
spare;  it  made  possible  the  thing  he  had  in  mind. 

The  minute  his  train  arrived  in  the  city  station  he  made 
haste  to  the  telephone,  and  shortly  had  Jane's  shop  on  the 
wire,  with  Sue  promising  to  call  her  mistress  quickly.  Then, 
he  was  talking  fast,  and  he  feared  less  convincingly  than 
he  could  have  wished,  for  Jane  was  objecting: 

"Why,  Mr.  Black — how  can  I?  How  could  I,  in  any 
case?  And  now,  with  so  little  time!  Besides — are  you 
sure  you And  your  friend — how  can  you  know  she " 

Yes,  this  usually  poised  young  business  woman  was 
certainly  being  a  trifle  incoherent.  No  doubt  it  was  an 
extraordinary  invitation  she  had  received.  It  was  small 
wonder  she  was  hesitating,  as  each  phase  of  it  presented 
itself  to  her  mind.  Go  with  him,  unbidden  by  his  hostess, 
to  spend  the  day  with  him  at  her  seaside  home?  What  a 
wild  idea!  But  his  eager  voice  broke  in  on  her  objections: 

"I'm  going  to  call  up  Mrs.  Devoe  right  now,  and  I 
know  as  well  as  when  I  get  her  answer  that  she  will  wel 
come  you  as  heartily  as  you  could  ask.  Why,  she's  South 
ern,  you  know,  so  any  friend  of  mine And  we'll  be  back 

in  the  early  evening.  Why  shouldn't  you  go?  I  can't 
see  a  possible  reason  why  not.  You  wouldn't  hesitate, 
would  you — if  it  were  any  other *'  And  here  he,  too, 


238  RED  AND  BLACK 

became  a  victim  of  unfinished  sentences,  his  anxiety  to 
put  the  plan  through  increasing,  after  the  fashion  of  men, 
with  her  seeming  reluctance  to  allow  him  to  do  it.  "Listen, 
please,  Miss  Ray.  If  you'll  be  making  ready,  I'll  call  you 
again  when  I've  had  Mrs.  Devoe — if  I  can  get  her  quickly 
— and  assure  you  of  her  personal  invitation.  If  she  is  in 
the  least  reluctant — I'll  be  honest  and  tell  you  so.  You've 
forty  minutes  to  make  your  train,  if  you  don't  lose  any 
time.  Please!" 

But  all  he  could  get  was  a  doubtful:  "I  can't  promise, 
Mr.  Black — I  can't  decide,  all  in  an  instant." 

"Then — will  you  let  me  call  you  again,  with  Mrs.  De- 
voe's  invitation,  if  I  get  it  in  time?  And  will  you  call  a 
taxi,  so  that  if  you  decide " 

A  low  and  heart-warming  laugh  came  to  him  over  the 
wire:  "Oh! — I  don't  know  what  I'll  do.  I'm  going  to 
hang  up  the  receiver.'* 

"Wait  a  minute!  Will  you  be  on  the  train?  Won't 
you  take  a  chance?  I  may  not  get  my  friend  in  time  to 
let  you  know,  but  I'll  surely  have  the  message  by  the  time 
you  join  me.  Just  remember — won't  you? — that — I'm 
going  to  France  pretty  soon " 

"Forgive  me!"  And  the  receiver  clicked  in  his  ear. 
It  was  high  time.  Two  hurried  people  cannot  talk  over  a 
telephone  and  not  be  using  up  minutes  of  which  they  have 
none  too  many. 

The  next  half-hour  Black  spent  in  a  manner  calculated 
both  to  warm  his  body  and  cool  his  spirit,  if  the  latter 
could  have  been  readily  cooled.  In  a  smoking-hot  tele 
phone  booth  he  struggled  with  the  intricacies  of  a  system 
temporarily  in  a  snarl — of  course  it  would  have  happened 
on  this  particular  morning.  He  did,  at  length,  get  Mrs. 
Devoe  on  the  wire.  He  cut  short,  as  courteously  as  he 


SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER        239 

could,  her  rejoicings  at  the  sound  of  his  remembered  voice, 
and  put  his  question.  He  received  the  cordial  consent  he 
knew  he  should,  though  his  reason  told  him  she  would  have 
preferred  to  see  him  alone.  He  was  sorry — he  couldn't 
help  that — he  would  make  it  up  to  her  as  best  he  could. 
But  have  this  one  day  with  Jane  he  must,  if  it  could  be 
brought  about. 

When  he  emerged  from  the  booth  at  last  it  was  much 
too  late  to  get  Jane,  if  she  had  left  for  her  train.  He 
might  call  up  the  shop  and  find  out  what  had  been  her 
decision,  and  whether  she  was  on  her  way,  but  somehow 
he  preferred  not  to  do  that.  Rather  would  he  cherish  the 
hope,  until  her  train  came  in,  that  she  was  on  it.  Ten 
minutes  more,  and  he  would  know.  Meanwhile — he 
would  try  to  cool  off!  Somehow — he  had  never  been  more 
stirred  by  a  possibility — never  so  looked  forward  to  seeing 
a  train  come  in.  If  Jane  would  come,  he  felt  that  he 
should  be  almost  happier  than  he  could  bear  and  not  show 
it.  If  she  did  not  come — how  was  he  going  to  bear  that? 
Suddenly  all  his  fate  seemed  hanging  in  the  balance. 
Absurd,  when  he  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  making 
a  day  of  fate  of  it!  He  couldn't  do  that;  he  had  decided 
that  long  ago.  It  was  only  Jane's  friendship  he  had,  or 
could  ask  to  have;  that  was  about  the  biggest  thing  he 
could  want  before  he  went  away  to  the  war.  He  was 
sure  she  felt  that  way,  as  well  as  he.  Without  talking 
about  it  at  all,  it  had  seemed  to  become  understood  be 
tween  them.  Why,  then,  should  he  be  so  brought  to  a 
tension  by  these  plans  for  the  day?  He  hardly  knew — 
except  that  he  was  becoming  momentarily  more  anxious 
to  have  them  go  through,  and  to  find  Jane  on  that  hot 
and  dusty  local  and  bear  her  away  with  him  for  one  day  to 
the  sea  breezes.  There  could  be  no  possible  reason  why  he 


24o  RED  AND  BLACK 

shouldn't  do  it,  with  his  good  friend  at  the  other  end  to 
make  it  seemly. 

The  train  came  in.  It  is  probable  that  could  Robert 
Black  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  expression  on  his  own 
face  as  he  watched  the  stream  of  passengers  getting  off, 
he  would  have  tried  to  look  a  shade  less  tense  of  eye  and 
mouth!  He  was  hoping,  it  must  be  confessed,  that  if 
Jane  were  there,  there  would  be  none  of  his  parishioners 
coming  in  by  that  same  train.  If  there  were  some  of 
them  aboard,  however,  he  did  not  intend  to  attempt  to 
cover  his  very  obvious  purpose  of  meeting  Miss  Ray.  If 
there  was  one  clause  more  emphatic  than  another  in 
Black's  code,  it  was  the  one  in  which  he  set  forth  his  right 
to  do  as  his  conscience  and  judgment  sanctioned,  provided 
he  did  so  with  absolute  frankness  and  openness.  But 
if  he  would  brook  no  interference  with  his  rights  from 
others,  neither  would  he  tolerate  intrigue  or  deceit  on  his 
own  part. 

Nobody  whom  he  knew  got  off — the  long  line  of  pas 
sengers  had  thinned  to  a  final  straggler.  When  he  had 
all  but  given  her  up,  his  heart  sinking  abominably — she 
appeared  at  the  door  of  the  car,  evidently  detained  by  a 
stranger  asking  information.  .  .  .  Was  it  the  same 
weary  Jane  whom  he  had  seen  in  the  morning  ?  It  couldn't 
be — this  adorable  young  woman  in  the  dark  blue  summer 
travelling  garb,  with  the  look  about  her  he  had  always 
noted  of  having  been  just  freshly  turned  out  by  a  most 
capable  personal  maid.  How  did  she  manage  it,  she  who 
was  accustomed  to  set  her  hand  to  so  many  practical  af 
fairs?  And  how,  especially,  had  she  managed  it  this 
morning  of  all  mornings,  when  in  an  incredibly  short  space 

of  time Oh,  well,  it  wasn't  that  Black  thought  all  these 

things  out;  he  just  drank  in  the  vision  of  her,  after  his  hour 


SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER        241 

of  uncertainty,  and  rejoiced  that  she  was  here — and  that 
she  looked  like  that! 

He  smiled  up  at  her,  and  she  smiled  back;  it  was  like  two 
chums  meeting,  he  thought.  He  had  grasped  her  hand 
before  she  was  fairly  down  the  last  step  of  the  car.  The 
coming  holiday  suddenly  had  become  a  festival,  now  that 
she  was  here  to  share  it. 

"I  oughtn't  to  have  come,  you  know,"  she  said,  as  they 
walked  down  the  platform  together.  "I  suppose  that's 
why  I  did  come." 

"I  don't  know  any  reason  why  you  oughtn't." 

"I  do — a  big  one.     But  I'm  going  to  forget  it." 

"  Please  do.  I  appreciate  your  coming  more  than  I  can 
tell  you." 

He  looked  down  at  her,  walking  beside  him  among  the 
throng  of  strangers,  and  experienced  a  curious  and  entirely 
new  sense  of  possession.  He  was  so  accustomed  to  the 
necessity  of  steering  a  strictly  neutral  course  where  women 
were  concerned,  that  to  be  off  like  this  alone  with  this 
amazingly  attractive  and  interesting  member  of  what  was 
to  Black  practically  the  forbidden  class,  was  almost 
an  unprecedented  experience.  He  was  astonished  to  find 
himself  quite  shaken  with  joy  in  the  sense  of  her  nearness, 
and  in  the  knowledge  that  for  this  day,  at  least,  he  might 
be  sure  of  many  hours  with  her,  never  afterward  to  be  for 
gotten.  Surely,  that  fact  of  the  separation,  so  near  at 
hand,  which  might  so  easily  be  for  good  and  all,  justified 
him  in  forcing  the  issue  of  this  one  day's  companionship, 
whatever  might  be  its  outcome. 

In  the  second  train  it  was  again  too  hot  to  think  of  tak 
ing  the  fifty-minute  ride  in  a  stifling  coach,  and  Black 
again  sought  the  rear  platform,  found  it  unoccupied,  and 
took  Jane  to  it.  The  noise  of  the  train  made  talking  im- 


242  RED  AND  BLACK 

possible,  and  the  pair  swayed  and  clung  to  the  rail  in 
silent  company  until  at  length  the  journey  was  over.  They 
alighted  at  a  little  breeze-swept  station,  the  only  passen 
gers  for  this  point,  which  Mrs.  Devoe  had  told  Black  was 
a  solitary  one. 

"Oh-h!"  Jane  drew  a  long,  refreshed  breath.  "Isn't 
this  delicious?  How  grateful  I  am  to  you  for  making  me 
come — now  that  I  am  here  and  feel  this  first  wonder  of 
sea  air.  It's  ages  since  I've  taken  the  time  to  get  within 
sight  of  the  sea." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  I  made  you  come?" 

"Of  course  you  did.  Imposed  your  masculine  will  upon 
mine,  and  brought  me  whither  I  would  not — which  sounds 
scriptural,  somehow — where  did  I  get  that  phrase?  All 
the  time  I  was  dressing  I  was  saying  to  myself  that  I  not 
only  could  not  but  would  not.  I  am  in  the  habit  of  making 
my  own  decisions.  I  really  can't  account  for  it." 

"I  can.  This  is  to  be  a  day  of  days  in  both  your  ex 
perience  and  mine — it  was  for  us  to  have,  together,  before 
we  go  across  where  there  can  be  no  such  days.  Our  friend 
ship  is  a  thing  that  demands  a  chance  to  talk  both  our 
affairs  over  in  a  way  we  never  can  back  there.  Don't 
you  feel  that?" 

"Yes — I  suppose  that  was  why  I  came.  How  straight 
forwardly  you  put  it — like  your  straightforward  self! — 
Oh,  how  glorious  this  is!" 

Her  head  was  up,  she  was  walking  sturdily  erect  beside 
him  over  a  white  road  hard  and  smooth  with  ground  clam 
shells,  that  ideal  road  of  the  sea  district.  Far  away 
stretched  the  salt  marshes,  with  a  low-lying  gray  cottage 
in  the  distance — the  only  one  along  a  mile  of  coast.  The 
breeze,  direct  from  the  ocean,  made  the  temperature  seem 
many  degrees  cooler  than  that  of  the  inland  left  behind. 


SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER        243 

"Isn't  it?  I  haven't  known  much  about  the  sea  since 
my  early  boyhood.  I  was  born  on  the  east  coast  of  Scot 
land,  and  used  to  tumble  around  in  the  surf  half  my  time, 
wading  or  swimming.  But  that's  a  pretty  distant  memory 
now.  I  suppose  I  still  could  swim — one  couldn't  forget." 

"Oh,  no — quite  impossible.  I  was  brought  up  to  swim — 
and  ride — but  it's  years  since  I've  done  either.  How  I'd 
like  to  swim  clear  out  into  the  blue  over  there!  I  suppose 
nothing  so  wonderful  could  happen  to-day?" 

"  It  might — for  you,  anyhow.  Mrs.  Devoe  undoubtedly 
bathes  here — she  would  have  something  to  lend  you." 

"Oh!  I  somehow  got  the  impression  that  she  was  an 
old  lady." 

Black  laughed.  "She  calls  herself  old.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  she's  the  youngest  person  I  know.  Her  hair  is 
perfectly  white,  but  her  eyes  are  unquestionably  young — 
and  very  beautiful.  She  is  vigorous  as  a  girl,  and  full  of 
the  zest  of  life,  though  she  insists  she  is  old  enough  to  be  my 
mother.  I  suppose  she  must  be,  for  she  had  a  son  who 
would  have  been  my  age  if  he'd  lived.  She  is  simply  one 
of  those  remarkable  women  who  never  grow  old — and 
her  mind  is  one  of  the  keenest  I  ever  came  up  against.  She 
has  been  a  wonderful  friend  to  me,  as  she  was  to  everybody 
in  my  first  parish,  with  her  wealth,  and  her  charm,  and  her 
generosity,  though  she  was  only  there  part  of  the  time,  for 
she's  a  great  traveller.  You'll  like  her — you  can't  help 
it." 

"I  shall  feel  as  if  I  were  intruding  horribly.  She  must 
want  to  have  a  long  talk  with  you  alone — of  course  she 
will.  You  must  let  me  manage  it,  or  I  shall  be  sorry  I 
came." 

"I'll  let  you,  certainly — though  I've  no  doubt  she  would 
manage  it  herself.  She's  too  clever  to  be  defeated  in  get- 


244  RED  AND  BLACK 

ting  anything  she  wants  as  much  as  she  and  I  both  want 
that  talk.  So  don't  imagine  yourself  intruding.  There 
are  few  people  who  understand  better  the  laws  of  friend 
ship,  human  and  Divine,  and  nothing  could  make  her 
happier  than  to  know  that  I've  found  another  friend. 
She's  always  insisted  that  there  were  many  people  in 
the  world  who  knew  what  real  friendship  meant,  but 
I've  doubted  it.  I  still  doubt  it — in  a  way — but  not 
as  I  did  before." 

Thus  the  day  began  for  them,  with  an  entirely  frank 
understanding  that  before  it  was  over  they  were  to  know 
pretty  well  on  what  ground  they  stood.  High  ground  it 
was  to  be,  no  question  of  that.  There  was  no  hint  in 
Black's  language  or  in  his  manner  of  intended  love-making, 
but  his  intense  interest  both  in  the  subject  before  them 
and  in  Jane  herself  was  very  evident.  It  was  quite 
enough  to  make  the  day  a  vivid  one  for  any  such  man 
and  woman.  There  are  those  who  feel  that  there  come 
hours  when  the  expression  of  the  best  and  finest  friendship 
may  surpass  in  beauty  and  in  quality  the  more  intimate 
revelations  of  a  declared  love.  However  that  may  be, 
it  can  hardly  be  denied  that  the  early  approaches  of 
one  spirit  to  another  may  contain  an  exquisite  and 
unapproachable  surprise  and  joy,  to  remain  in 
memory  in  the  whitest  light  that  shines  in  a  world 
of  shadow. 

There  is  no  space  to  tell  the  whole  story  of  that  day. 
Of  the  arrival  at  the  cottage — hardly  a  cottage,  it  stretched 
so  far  its  long  gray  porches  in  a  roomy  hospitality — it 
can  only  be  said  that  its  welcome  proved  as  friendly  as 
the  personality  of  its  hostess.  Mrs.  Devoe  put  both  arms 
about  the  shoulders  of  Robert  Black,  greeting  him  as  a 
mother  might  have  done.  She  gave  Jane  one  smiling 


SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER        245 

survey  of  discerning  sweetness,  said  to  Black,  "She's  just 
what  I  should  expect  a  friend  of  yours  to  be,  my  dear," 
and  bore  Jane  off  to  extend  to  her  every  comfort  a  traveller 
on  a  July  day  might  need.  Returning,  having  left  Jane 
for  the  moment  in  a  cool  guest  room,  she  questioned  the 
man  as  one  who  must  know  her  ground. 

"How  much  does  this  mean,  and  just  what  do  you  want 
of  me,  Robert?" 

"I  don't  know  quite  what  it  means,  Mrs.  Devoe — ex 
cept  that  she  and  I  like  very  much  to  be  together — and 
we  are  both  going  to  France  soon.  It  may  be  a  very  long 
time  before  we  can  spend  a  day  together  again.  It  seemed 
to  me  we  had  to  have  the  day.  And  all  I  want  of  you  is  to 
let  me  have  part  of  it  with  you — and  part  of  it  with  her — 
and  understand  that  I'm  so  glad  to  be  near  someone  who 
feels  like  a  mother  that  I'd  have  come  five  times  as  far  for 
one  hour  with  you." 

She  nodded.  "I  know.  We  have  missed  each  other. 
But  before  we  begin  our  talk — it's  just  the  hour  for  the 
morning  swim.  Will  you  and  Miss  Ray  go  in,  while  I 
sit  on  the  beach  under  my  big  sun  umbrella  and  watch 
you  ?  I'm  not  going  in  now;  I  had  an  early  morning  dip." 

"Can  you  manage  it — for  me?" 

"Of  course.  I  keep  several  extra  suits  here,  and  Sarah 
has  them  all  in  the  nicest  order  for  guests." 

It  was  more  than  he  could  have  imagined  hoping  for 
when  the  subject  was  first  mentioned.  What  could  have 
been  more  glorious  than  to  dash  down  the  beach,  and  find 
Jane,  in  the  prettiest  little  blue-and-gray  swimming  clothes 
in  the  world,  already  floating  out  on  the  crest  of  a  great 
wave?  All  his  early  sea  training  came  back  to  him  as  he 
plunged  under  a  lazy  comber,  and  swam  eagerly  out  to  join 
the  blue-and-gray  figure  with  the  white1  arms  and  the 


246  RED  AND  BLACK 

wonderful  laugh  he  had  never  heard  make  such  music  from 
her  lips  before. 

"If  not  another  thing  happens  to-day,  this  will  have 
made  it  quite  perfect,"  Jane  declared,  swimming  with 
smooth  strokes  by  his  side  toward  shore,  after  a  half  hour 
of  alternate  work  and  play  in  the  blue  depths. 

"It  certainly  will.  I'm  a  new  man  already — feel  like  a 
sea-god,  in  spite  of  aching  muscles.  It  takes  an  entirely 
new  set  to  swim  with,  doesn't  it?" 

"Absolutely.  What  a  pity  one  can't  have  swimming 
pools  brought  to  one's  door,  like  fish,  when  the  wish  takes 
one,  on  a  July  day.  What  a  dear  your  Mrs.  Devoe  is 
to  think  of  this  the  very  instant  we  appear.  I  don't 
wonder  you  love  her,  she's  so  very  attractive  to  look  at, 
and  so  young,  in  spite  of  her  years." 

"There's  nobody  like  her — you'll  be  confident  of  that 
when  you've  known  her  just  one  day.  What  I  owe  her — I 
could  never  tell  you — and  hardly  myself." 

Jane  was  sure  of  it.  She  began  to  understand  at  once 
certain  qualities  she  had  long  since  noted  in  Robert 
Black.  The  explanation  now  was  easy:  he  had  been  un» 
der  unconscious  training  from  Mrs.  Devoe,  his  friend.  She 
had  been  to  him,  for  those  five  years  during  which  he  had 
served  his  first  parish,  not  only  the  mother  he  had  missed 
but  the  stimulus  he  had  needed  to  bring  out  his  best  attri 
butes  of  mind  and  heart.  That  she  had  done  this  for 
many  another,  first  and  last,  lessened  not  a  whit  his  debt 
to  her.  Somehow  he  had  never  been  more  conscious  of 
this  debt  than  he  was  to-day,  upon  seeing  her  again  after 
the  interval  of  more  than  a  year. 

After  luncheon — a  refreshing  affair  partaken  of  on  the 
airy  end  of  the  seaside  porch — Black  had  his  hour  with 
Mrs.  Devoe  while  Jane  wandered  off  down  the  beach, 


SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER        247 

taking  herself  out  of  sight  and  sound  around  a  rocky  curve. 
In  spite  of  his  eagerness  to  be  with  Jane,  Black  enjoyed 
that  hour  to  the  full,  for  it  meant  that  he  could  pour  out 
to  this  perfect  confidante  the  story  of  his  year  amid  the 
new  surroundings,  and  feel  as  of  old  her  understanding  and 
sympathy,  as  well  as  experience  afresh  her  power  to  show 
him  where  he  lacked.  But  it  was  only  for  a  little  that 
they  discussed  the  affairs  of  the  new  parish;  both  were  too 
full  of  the  bigger  challenge  to  service  Black  had  received, 
and  all  that  it  might  mean.  France!  That  was  the  burden 
of  their  talk  together,  and  when  it  ended  both  were  glowing 
with  the  stimulus  each  had  received  from  the  other. 

"I  may  go  myself,"  Mrs.  Devoe  said,  looking  off  long 
ingly  across  the  sparkling  blue  waters  as  she  rose  from  her 
low  porch  chair,  at  the  end  of  the  hour,  ready  to  send  her 
companion  off  before  he  should  want  to  go — one  of  the 
little  secrets  of  her  charm,  perhaps!  "Why  shouldn't 
I  spend  one  or  two  of  the  last  of  my  active  years  in  work 
like  that?  Many  women  of  my  age  are  in  service  over 
there — and  I  can  manage  things — and  people,  can't  I, 
Robert? — and  get  any  amount  of  work  out  of  them  with 
out  making  them  cross  at  me!" 

Her  beautiful  eyes  were  sparkling  as  they  met  his. 

"You  can  do  anything,"  he  said  with  reverence.  "If 
you  should  choose  to  do  that,  it  would  be  the  greatest 
service  of  a  life  that  has  been  just  one  long  service." 

"Ah,  you've  always  thought  too  well  of  me.  If  I've 
loved  my  fellowmen — and  women — it's  because  I've  found 
that  there's  nothing  in  life  but  that — and  the  love  of  their 
Maker.  I've  been  selfish,  really,  for  I  never  gave  without 
getting  back  ten — twenty — a  hundred  fold." 

"There's  a  reason  for  that,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

She  sent  him   away  then,  pointing  in  the  direction 


248  RED  AND  BLACK 

Jane  had  gone.  He  went  almost  reluctantly — which  was 
perhaps  the  greatest  tribute  to  her  hold  upon  him  he  could 
have  given  her.  In  truth  she  was  the  only  woman  of 
any  age  he  had  ever  known  intimately,  and  to  go  back  to 
Jane,  from  her,  was  like  leaving  home  to  adventure  in  the 
unknown. 

But  the  unknown  has  its  lure  for  any  man — and  this 
particular  unknown  drew  Robert  Black  with  rapid  foot 
steps  once  he  had  started  in  its  direction.  He  had  quite  a 
walk  before  he  came  upon  her,  for  Jane  had  gone  on  and 
on,  following  curve  after  curve  of  the  shore,  around  one 
rocky  barrier  after  another.  When  he  caught  sight  of  her 
at  last  she  was  standing  upon  a  great  rock,  in  the  shadow 
of  the  cliff  towering  above  her,  watching  a  distant  ship 
which  was  almost  hull  down  upon  the  horizon. 

Young  and  strong  and  intensely  vital  she  looked  to  him 
as  she  stood  there,  her  face  and  figure  outlined  in  profile 
against  the  dark  cliff.  The  morning  swim  and  the  sea 
air  had  brought  all  its  most  vivid  colouring  into  her  face; 
the  light  breeze  blew  her  skirts  back  from  her  lithe  limbs; 
she  might  have  been  posed  for  a  statue  of  Liberty,  or 
Victory,  or  anything  symbolic  of  ardent  purpose.  And 
yet  he  was  sure  it  was  no  pose,  for  she  did  not  hold  it  an 
instant  after  his  call  to  her,  but  came  running  down  the 
sloping  rocks  with  the  sure  foot  of  youth  and  perfect 
health,  her  voice  that  of  warm  joy  in  the  hour. 

"Oh,  I've  not  been  so  happy  in  months — years!"  she 
cried.  "I  don't  know  why.  It's  just  sheer  delight  in  be 
ing  alive,  I  think,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  wonder  of  sea 
and  sky  and  air.  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  for  bringing 
me  down  here?  It  was  what  I  needed  to  put  the  breath 
of  life  back  into  me,  after  all  these  weeks  of  work  and 
bother  over  closing  up  and  getting  away.  This  morning, 


SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER        249 

when  you  met  me,  I  almost  didn't  want  to  go  to  France — 
can  you  believe  that? — after  all  my  preparation!  And 
now — oh!  I've  just  been  standing  here  watching  that 
ship  go  out,  and  imagining  myself  on  her,  with  the  ocean 
breeze  blowing  in  my  face  as  it's  been  blowing  here — only 
stiffer  and  stronger  as  we  got  farther  and  farther  out. 
And  now — I  can  hardly  wait  to  go!" 

He  looked  into  her  face,  and  met  her  eyes — and  gave  her 
back  her  radiant  smile.  And  then,  suddenly,  he  didn't 
feel  at  all  like  smiling.  Rather,  his  heart  began  to  sink 
at  thought  of  the  separation  so  near  at  hand. 

"Come,  please,"  he  said,  "let's  sit  down  over  here  in 
the  shade,  though  you  look  just  now  as  if  you  belonged 
nowhere  but  in  the  brightest  sunshine.  I  want  to  talk 
it  all  out.  And  this  is  our  hour.*' 

He  found  a  seat  for  her  where  she  could  lean  against 
a  smooth  rock.  Then  he  took  his  own  place,  just  below 
her  and  a  little  farther  back,  so  that  as  they  both  looked 
out  to  sea  he  could  study  her  side  face — if  she  did  not  turn 
it  too  far  away.  It  was  rather  clever  of  him,  and  highly 
characteristic,  if  he  had  known  it,  of  the  male  mind  when 
making  its  arrangements  for  a  critical  interview.  Jane 
might  easily  have  defeated  him  in  it,  but  she  did  not. 
Perhaps  she  knew  that  to  talk  as  freely  as  he  seemed  to 
want  to  talk  he  must  have  a  little  the  advantage  of  her 
as  to  the  chance  for  observation. 

"I  don't  know  why  it  is,"  he  began,  slowly,  and  with 
astonishing  directness,  much  as  he  was  accustomed  to  do 
everything,  "but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  only  way  I  can 
possibly  make  clear  to  you  something  you  must  know,  is 
just  simply  to  state  it — and  ask  your  help.  I've  thought 
of  every  other  way,  and  I  find  I  don't  know  how  to  use 
them.  I  haven't  been  brought  up  to  feel  my  way,  I  have 


250  RED  AND  BLACK 

to  cut  a  straight  path.  So — I'm  going  to  tell  you  that — • 
I  find  it  very  hard  not  to  ask  you  to  marry  me,  because 
I  never  wanted  to  do  anything  as  I  want  to  do  that. 
I  think  it  is  your  right  to  know  that  I  want  to  do  it — and 
why  I — can't." 

There  was  an  instant's  silence,  while  Jane  gazed  steadily 
out  to  sea,  her  side  face,  as  he  looked  hard  and  anxiously 
at  it,  that  of  one  who  had  received  no  shock  of  surprise 
or  sorrow.  Instead,  a  shadow  of  a  smile  slowly  curved  the 
corners  of  her  sweet,  characterful  mouth. 

"Thank  you,  Robert  Black,"  she  said,  without  turning 
toward  him  at  all.  "Whatever  else  I  have  or  don't  have, 
in  life,  I  shall  always  have  that  to  remember — that  you 
wanted  me.  But  of  course  I  know,  quite  as  well  as  you 
do,  that  you  are  not  for  me — nor  I  for  you.  I  have  under 
stood  that  perfectly,  all  along.  You  really  didn't  have 
to  tell  me.  But — I  can't  help  being  glad  you  did." 

And  now,  indeed,  there  fell  a  silence.  Where  was  the 
"talk"  Black  had  thought  he  was  to  have,  carefully  un 
folding  to  her  the  reasons — or  rather  the  great  reason — 
why  he  couldn't  ask  her  for  herself,  but  only  for  her  lasting 
friendship — for  this  was  what  he  meant  to  ask  for,  in  full 
measure.  Was  it  all  said,  in  those  few  words?  It  seemed 
so — and  more  than  said.  There  was  nothing  to  explain — 
she  understood,  and  accepted  his  decision.  That  was  all 
there  was  of  it.  Was  it  ? 

As  he  sat  there,  staring  out  at  the  incoming  waves,  each 
seeming  to  wash  a  little  higher  on  the  beach  than  the  last, 
her  simple  words  all  at  once  took  on  new  meaning.  Why 
was  she  glad  he  had  told  her?  Why  should  she  say  that 
she  had  that  to  remember? — as  if  it  were  something  very 
precious  to  remember?  No  real  woman  could  be  so  glad 
as  that  just  to  hear  a  man  say  he  wanted  her — even  though 


SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER        251 

he  could  not  have  her — unless Yes,  there  was  revela 
tion  in  those  words  of  hers — even  quiet,  straightforward 
confession,  such  as  his  straightforwardness  called  for.  He 
had  virtually  told  her  that  he  loved  her,  though  he  had 
carefully  refrained  from  using  the  phrase  which  is  wont 
to  unlock  the  doors  of  restraint.  Well,  in  return,  she^had 
virtually  told  him — yes,  hadn't  she? — else  why  should  she 
be  glad  of  his  words  to  remember? 

The  thought  shook  him,  as  he  had  never  dreamed  he 
could  be  shaken.  He  had  believed  he  could  keep  firm 
hold  of  himself  throughout  this  interview,  in  which  he  was 
to  tell  a  woman  that  in  asking  for  nothing  but  her  friend 
ship  he  was  withholding  the  greater  asking  only  because 
he  must.  But  now  that  he  knew — or  thought  he  knew — 

that  she  cared,  too Suddenly  he  drew  a  great  breath 

of  pain  and  longing,  and  folded  his  arms  upon  his  knees 
which  were  drawn  up  before  him,  and  laid  his  head  down 
upon  them. 

After  a  minute  Jane  spoke :  "  Don't  mind — too  much," 
she  said,  and  the  sound  of  her  low  voice  thrilled  him 
through  and  through.  "  It's  a  great  deal  just  to  know  that 
the  biggest  thing  there  is  has  come  to  one,  even  though 
one  can't  have  it  to  keep.  And  yet,  in  a  way,  one  can 
have  it  to  keep.  I  have  something  to  take  with  me  to 
France  now — that  I  couldn't  have  hoped  to  have.  Per 
haps  you  have  something,  too.  I  am  trying  to  give  it  to 
you,  without  actually  saying  it — just  as  you  have  given 
it  to  me  without  actually  saying  it.  I  think  that's  only 
fair.  And  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  do  perfectly  under 
stand  why  you  can't  say  more.  You  can  no  more  ask  me 
to  marry  you  than — I  could  marry  you,  if  you  did  ask  me. 
For  I  couldn't — Robert  Black — even  though " 

He  lifted  his  head,  his  eyes  full  of  a  wild  will  to  know 


252  RED  AND  BLACK 

what  she  would  say.  "Even  though — what?"  he  asked, 
in  a  voice  which  would  not  be  denied. 

"Why  should  I  say — what  you  do  not?"  she  asked,  with 
that  strange  little  smile  of  hers. 

"I  thought  I  mustn't  say  it.  But  now  that  you Oh, 

I'll  say  it,  if  you  want  to  hear  it." 

"I  do.     You  might  at  least  give  me  that  to  keep,  too." 

"Oh!"  He  turned  and  looked  straight  into  her  up 
lifted  eyes.  Then  he  said  the  words — that  he  had  thought 
he  wouldn't  say.  And  he  heard  the  answer.  After  that 
he  didn't  know  how  time  passed,  because  there  seemed  to 
be  no  time  any  more — just  eternity,  which  was  soon  to 
separate  them. 

Then,  all  at  once:  "Jane,"  he  said,  heavily,  "perhaps 
some  time — when  you  have  been  through — what  you  will 
go  through  over  there " 

She  shook  her  head.  "It  would  never  make  me — what 
I  should  have  to  be  to  fill  the  place  your  wife  must  fill. 
You  couldn't  have  a  hypocrite  taking  that  place — and  I 
couldn't  play  the  part  of  one.  There's  a  great  gulf  fixed 
between  us — no  doubt  of  that.  I  can't  accept  your  be 
liefs — and  you  can't  accept  my — lack  of  them.  It  will 
always  be  so.  As  long  as  I  can  never  say  a  prayer — and 
as  long  as  you  live  by  prayer " 

"Do  you  remember,"  he  asked,  "how  glad  you  were 
to  have  a  prayer  said  over  Sadie  Dunstan  ?" 

She  nodded.  "Because  it  meant  the  difference  between 
custom  and  outrageous  ignoring  of  custom.  And  I  liked 
the  prayer,  and  respected  your  belief  in  it.  But — I  didn't 
for  a  moment  think  any  one  but  ourselves  heard  it." 

"Sometime,"  he  said  again,  sturdily,  "you  will  pray, 
and  be  glad  to  pray.  And  you  will  know  that  Someone" 
hears." 


SOMETHING  TO  REMEMBER        253 

"When  I  do" — her  voice  softened  incredibly — "I  will 
let  you  know.  And — in  a  way — it  isn't  true  when  I  say 
that  I  don't  believe  in  prayer,  because — I  could  so  easily, 
this  very  minute — pray  to — you" 

"To  me!"  he  repeated  unsteadily  and  incredulously. 
"For  what?" 

"For  what — you  think — you  mustn't  give  me.  Yet 
— since  we  are  going  so  far  away  from  each  other — so  soon 
— and — since — the  kind  of  chaplain  you  will  be  is  just  as 
likely  to  get — a  bullet  through  his  splendid  heart  as  any 
other  man — I  almost  think — you  might  give  it  to  me. 

It  is "  He  had  to  bend  to  catch  the  words,  the  heart  she 

had  mentioned  beating  like  mad  in  his  breast  with  what 
might  almost  have  been  a  bullet  through  it,  for  the  shock 
of  it.  "  It  is — so  little  for  you  to  give — and  so  much — 
for  me — to  have!  And  I  know — with  your  dreadful  Scotch 
ideas  of  what  mustn't  be,  you  will  never,  never  think 
you  can  give  it  to  me  unless  I — pray  for  it " 

He  was  still  as  a  statue,  except  for  his  difficult  breathing, 
while  she  waited,  her  head  down  and  turned  away,  a  won 
derful  deep  flush  overspreading  all  her  cheek  and  neck. 
Then,  at  last,  he  spoke,  in  a  whisper: 

"  It  isn't  *  little  for  me  to  give.9  It's — all  I  have. — I  didn't 
think — didn't  dream — I  could  give  it  to  you  unless  I  gave 
you — myself  with  it.  But " 

She  looked  up  then.  Her  lips  were  smiling  a  little,  and 
her  eyes  were  full  of  tears — it  was  a  glorious  face  she 
showed  him. 

"  I  always  knew  the  Scotch  were  cautious,"  she  breathed, 
"  and  sometimes  a  trifle — close.  But  I  didn't  think  they 
would  hesitate  so  over  a  'bit  gift' — when — they  were 
withholding — so  much " 

She  hadn't  finished  the  words  before  his  lips  met  hers. 


254  RED  AND  BLACK 

And  when  this  had  happened^,  it  was  she  who  got  swiftly 
to  her  feet.  He  rose  also,  but  more  slowly,  and  with  a 
strange  film  across  his  eyes. 

"Now,"  she  said,  breathing  a  little  quickly,  but  with 
the  old  control  coming  back  long  before  he  could  get  hold 
of  his,  "we're  quite  all  right,  I  think.  We're  on  a  firm 
basis  of  friendship  for  the  rest  of  our  days,  and  every 
thing  completely  understood.  It  goes  without  saying 
that  this  was — something  to  remember,  and  only  that. 
Shall  we " 

But  Robert  Black  reached  out  and  caught  her  hand. 

"Jane,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  listen — listen  with 
your  heart,  not  with  your  reason." 

Then,  with  his  head  bared,  he  lifted  it,  as  he  had  lifted 
it  in  the  woods  with  Red.  "O  my  God,"  he  said,  "teach 
her — show  her — somehow — Thyself.  For  she  must  learn, 
and  I  can't  teach — this.  Over  there,  if  not  here — show 
her  that  she  is  all  wrong,  and  that  Thou  art  real,  and 
'nearer  than  breathing,  nearer  than  hands  and  feet.' 
Until  then — keep  her  safe — for  me" 

He  opened  his  eyes.  Jane  was  staring  straight  out  to 
sea,  and  on  her  face  was  he  knew  not  what  of  mingled  long 
ing,  appeal,  and  protest.  Her  fine  brows  were  drawn  to 
gether,  her  lips  were  caught  between  her  beautiful  white 
teeth.  She  turned  upon  him. 

"Robert  Black,"  she  said,  lew  and  fiercely,  "I'll  never 
say  I  believe  God  heard  that — oh,  yes,  I  knovr  there  is  a 
God — but  I'll  never  say  I  believe  He  heard,  or  cared — 
until  I  do  believe  it,  not  even  if  it  would  give  me — you/* 

"And  I,"  answered  Robert  Black,  steadily,  "would 
never  ask  you  to  say  it  till  you  do  believe  it — not  even 
if  it  would  give  me — you!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE 

WHERE  away,  Miss  Lockhart?  May  I  come  along 
a  bit?" 

Nan  turned,  to  see  Gary  Ray's  tall  figure  falling  into 
step  beside  her,  his  clean-cut  face  wearing  the  look  of  intent 
purpose  which  was  now  so  marked  upon  it. 

"Of  course  you  may.  I'm  going  to  the  station  to  meet 
Fanny.  You  knew  her  uncle  died,  and  she  went  West  to 
the  funeral?  She's  coming  back  to  stay  a  few  more  days 
with  me  before  she  goes  to  join  her  mother." 

"I  heard  about  the  uncle.     Is  it  a  serious  loss  for  her?" 

"  I  believe  he  supplied  Mrs.  Fitch  and  Fanny  with  most 
of  their  funds,  but  I  think  they  seldom  saw  him.  He  was 
rather  eccentric  and  a  good  deal  of  a  recluse." 

"Let's  hope  the  funds  continue,  anyhow,"  said  Gary, 
lightly,  "in  the  shape  of  a  big  bequest.  That  will  alleviate 
the  sense  of  loss,  besides  providing  a  tender  memory. 
These  recluse  uncles  with  large  bank  accounts  and  generous 
dispositions  are  all  too  uncommon — I  never  saw  the 
shadow  of  one.  If  I  only  had  one  now!  How  I'd  leap 
to  make  him  a  farewell  visit — in  uniform — if  I  ever  get 
mine.  I'm  mightily  afraid  I  shan't  get  it,  by  the  way, 
till  I'm  about  to  sail,  so  I'll  have  no  chance  to  strut  around 
this  town  and  call  on  you  all  with  an  air  of  conscious 
modesty." 

"Too  bad,"  laughed  Nan.     "  But  we're  quite  sufficiently 

255 


256  RED  AND  BLACK 

impressed  now  just  by  the  knowledge  that  you'll  soon 
be  off.  What  is  the  war  correspondent's  insignia,  do  you 
know?" 

"Two  fountain  pens,  crossed,  on  the  collar,  and  a  large 
splotch  of  ink  on  the  left  sleeve,"  announced  Gary, 
promptly.  "Also,  in  time,  presumably,  a  three-cornered 
tear  over  the  right  knee,  and  a  couple  of  black  eyes,  from 
trying  to  push  to  the  rear  out  of  danger  while  rapidly 
taking  notes  on  what  a  highly  developed  imagination 
assures  him  is  undoubtedly  occurring  at  the  front." 

"Great!  My  imagination,  though  not  so  highly  de 
veloped,  pictures  a  quite  different  scene.  .  .  Oh,  isn't 
that  the  train  coming  in?" 

"It  is.  The  station  clock  lies,  as  usual.  We  must 
sprint  for  it  if  we  want  to  be  on  the  platform." 

They  quickened  their  steps,  and  were  in  time  to  see 
Frances  Fitch  appear  in  the  vestibule  of  her  car,  and  to 
stare  up  at  her  with  surprised  and — at  least  in  Gary's  case 
— appreciative  eyes. 

"Oh,  Fanny!"  It  was  Nan  Lockhart's  inner  cry  to  her 
incomprehensible  friend,  though  her  lips  made  no  com 
ment.  "How  could  you?  Don't  you  think  we  must 
know  you're  acting?  You  don't  care  enough  for  that." 

For  Fanny  was  apparently  in  mourning,  certainly  in 
black,  the  most  simple  but  effective  black  the  eye  and  hand 
of  skilled  dressmaker  and  milliner  could  conceive,  and  in 
it  she  was  undeniably  a  picture.  Not  all  the  cunning 
frills  and  artful  colour  combinations  of  her  former  dressing 
could  approach  in  the  setting  forth  of  her  blonde  beauty 
the  unrelieved  black  silks  and  misty  chiffons  of  this  new 
garb.  To  Nan's  sophisticated  eye  Fanny's  mourning  was 
something  of  a  travesty,  for  it  was  all  of  materials  not 
ordinarily  considered  available  for  the  trappings  of  woe; 


QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE  257 

but  it  was  undoubtedly  only  the  more  effective  for  that. 
Perhaps,  Nan  acknowledged,  in  that  first  quick  glance, 
it  represented  the  precise  shade  of  honour  due^  a  recluse 
uncle  who  had  been  represented  in  his  niece's  life  prin 
cipally  by  monthly  cheques  and  not  at  all  by  intimate 
association. 

"My  word,  but  she's  a  ripping  beauty  in  that  black, 
isn't  she?"  came  from  Gary  Ray  under  his  breath,  as  he 
waved  an  eager  greeting  at  the  girl  above  him,  and  re 
ceived  an  answering  smile  slightly  touched  with  pensive- 
ness.  "Looks  as  if  she'd  been  pretty  unhappy,  too.  He 
was  about  all  she  had  in  the  world,  anyhow,  wasn't  he? — 
except  the  invalid  mother.  Poor  girl!" 

Nan  smothered  a  sigh.  Thus  was  Fanny  wont  to  carry 
off  the  interest  and  sympathy  of  the  spectator,  whatever 
she  did,  on  the  stage  or  off  it — if  she  was  ever  really  off 
the  stage.  Miss  Lockhart  now  spoke  sternly  to  her  inner 
self:  "Don't  be  a  prig,  Nancy!  Admit  she's  perfectly 
stunning  to  look  at,  and  she  has  the  right  to  mourn  her 
uncle  if  she  wants  to.  She  didn't  have  to  make  a  dowd 
of  herself  to  do  it,  just  so  other  women  wouldn't  be  en 
vious.  " 

"Yes,  she  is  a  beauty,"  she  answered,  in  her  usual 
generous  way.  "And  I'm  sure  it  was  a  great  loss." 

And  then  she  found  herself  almost  instantly  a  super 
numerary,  as  she  was  quite  accustomed  to  be  when  with 
her  friend  in  the  company  of  any  man  on  earth.  After 
one  ardent  embrace,  during  which  Fanny  murmured  the 
most  affectionate  of  greetings  in  her  ear — "You  old  dar 
ling — what  it  means  to  get  back  to  you!" — it  was  Gary 
to  whom  the  newcomer  turned,  and  toward  whom  she 
remained  turned — so  to  speak — throughout  the  walk 
home.  Nan  had  to  concede  to  herself,  as  she  kept  pace 


258  RED  AND  BLACK 

with  the  pair  beside  her,  that  Gary  was  doing  his  part 
most  thoroughly,  and  that  Fanny  could  not  justly  be 
blamed  for  giving  him  her  attention.  Before  they  had 
reached  the  house  it  began  to  look  to  Nan  as  if  Fanny's 
mourning  had  gone  to  Gary's  head! 

She  left  them  in  the  library,  knowing  well  what  was 
expected  of  her,  and  went  upstairs  wondering,  as  she  had 
wondered  a  thousand  times  before,  just  why  she  cared  so 
much  for  Fanny  Fitch.  And  then,  as  a  thousand  times 
before,  she  found  the  explanation.  To  do  Fanny  entire 
justice,  she  was  not  one  of  the  girls  who  find  no  time  or 
taste  for  others  of  their  own  sex.  Nobody  could  be  more 
fascinating  than  she  to  Nan  herself,  when  quite  alone  with 
her.  Never  down  at  heel  or  ragged  at  elbow  in  moments 
of  privacy,  always  making  herself  charming  from  sheer 
love  of  her  own  alluring  image  in  the  mirror,  capable  of 
the  most  clever  and  entertaining  talk  when  the  mood  took 
her,  though  there  might  be  no  man's  eye  or  ear  within  reach 
— it  was  impossible  not  indeed  quite  to  adore  her.  Nan's 
soberer  yet  highly  intelligent  self  found  a  curiously  satisfy 
ing  complement  at  times  in  Fanny's  lighter  but  far  more 
versatile  personality.  It  was  only  when  the  more  irre 
sponsible  and  reckless  side  of  the  other  girl's  nature  came 
uppermost  that  Nan  found  herself  critical  and  sometimes 
deeply  disapproving  and  resentful. 

It  was  a  full  hour  before  Fanny  came  upstairs.  Nan 
had  been  waiting  for  her  in  the  guest's  room,  where  she 
had  had  the  luggage  taken.  As  Fanny  came  in,  the  look 
of  her  struck  Nan  afresh  as  being  past  all  precedent  at 
tractive  and  appealing.  Her  colour  was  now  heightened, 
evidently  by  the  interview  with  Gary,  and  her  eyes  were 
full  of  all  manner  of  strange  lights.  She  had  not  yet  re 
moved  her  hat,  and  somehow  the  whole  effect  of  her  was 


QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE  259 

that  of  one  poised  but  a  moment  at  a  resting  place  on  a 
journey  full  of  both  excitement  and  peril. 

The  two  met  in  the  middle  of  the  large  and  airy  room. 

"Well,  dear — and  aren't  you  going  to  take  off  your  hat 
and  settle  down?"  Nan  put  up  her  hand  to  remove  the 
demurely  becoming  hat  in  question.  "Why  didn't  you 
take  it  off  downstairs  and  rest  your  head  ?" 

"  I  felt  better  armoured  for  defense  with  it.  Never'mind 
taking  it  off — I'm  going  out  again." 

"Did  you  need  defense,  then?" 

"Doesn't  one,  when  a  determined  young  man  wants  to 
marry  one  out  of  hand?  I've  only  succeeded  in  putting 
him  off  for  an  hour  or  two,  at  that.  He  says  he  may  go 
any  day,  and  on  seeing  me  just  now  he  realized  he  couldn't 
go  without  leaving  me  behind  securely  tied.  What  do 
you  think  of  that,  for  a  poor  girl  just  from  a  funeral,  to 
be  confronted  with  a  wedding?" 

"But,  Fanny " 

"That's  what  I  said — '  But,  Gary '  In  fact,  I  never 

got  further  than  that,  though  I  tried  it  ten  times  over." 

"  But  did  you — give  him  any  encouragement?" 

"Did  I?  Well,  now,  knowing  me — as  you  think  you 
do — what's  your  idea  of  it?" 

Nan  studied  her,  without  answering.  Her  gaze  dropped 
from  Fanny's  face  to  her  black-clad  shoulder,  then  sud 
denly  she  put  her  arm  about  that  shoulder. 

"I'm  forgetting,"  she  said,  gravely,  "that  you  have  lost 
a  friend.  I'm  sorry.  Somehow  I  didn't  expect  to  see 
you  in  black,  and  can't  yet  realize  that  it  means  bereave 
ment." 

"What  a  subtle  way  of  telling  me  that  my  particular 
kind  of  black  doesn't  wholly  suggest  bereavement!  Well, 
my  dear — it  seemed  to  me  only  decent  to  show  some  re- 


26o  RED  AND  BLACK 

spect  to  an  old  man  who  has  been  very  decent  to  me,  and 
left  me  enough  to  buy  silk  stockings  and  pumps  in  which 
to  mourn  him,  to  say  nothing  of  other  accessories.  I 
don't  think  he  would  have  approved  of  henrietta  cloth 
and  crepe — and  besides — what  I'm  wearing  suits  me 
better,  don't  you  think?  How  do  you  imagine  it  will 
impress  the  Reverend  Robert?  I've  already  noted  its 
effect  on  one  young  man.  Can  I  hope  to  make  another 
lose  his  head  within  the  hour?" 

Fanny  walked  over  to  the  mirror  and  gave  a  touch  or 
two  to  her  hair  beneath  the  black  hat  brim.  Nan's  eyes 
still  followed  her. 

"I  ought  to  be  used  to  your  breath-taking  statements," 
Nan  observed,  uneasily,  "but  I  probably  never  shall  be 
any  more  than  I  can  become  used  to  the  covering  up  of 
what  I  know  is  your  real  self  with  all  this  pretense  of 
lightness.  You  are  sorry  you  have  lost  your  uncle,  but 
one  would  never  guess  it.  And  you  care — or  don't  care — 
for  Gary  Ray,  and  I  haven't  an  idea  which.  As  for — 
the  crazy  things  you've  said  all  along  about " 

"Don't  hesitate  to  mention  his  name — I  adore  hearing 
it.  And  I'm  going  to  pronounce  it  myself  to  its  owner 
this  very  hour — if  he's  at  home.  That's  why  I'm  keeping 
on  my  hat.  And  why — "  Fanny  dived  into  a  small 
and  chastely  elegant  black  leather  travelling  bag,  and 
after  a  moment's  searching  brought  forth  two  filmily  fine 
handkerchiefs  which  she  tucked  away  in  her  dress — "why 
I  am  providing  myself  with  the  wherewithal  to  weep  upon. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  what  the  Reverend  Robert  says  to 
me  will  bring  forth  tears,  and  I  want  to  be  prepared.  But 
whether  tears  of  joy  or  sorrow " 

"Fanny!     You're  not — going  to  him?" 

"My  beloved  Annette,  the  number  of  times  in  the  course 


QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE  261 

of  my  acquaintance  with  you  that  you  have  pronounced 
the  word  'Fanny! '  in  precisely  that  tone  of  expostulatory 
shock  couldn't  be  numbered! — I  am  going  to  him — since 
I  don't  know  any  way  of  making  him  come  to  me.  Gary 
happened  to  say  that  Mr.  Black  also  was  liable  to  be 
called  at  any  hour,  and  I  dare  not  delay.  I  want  to  have 
an  important — very  important — interview  with  him 
while  my  courage  is  high.  I  told  you,  some  time  ago,  that 
I  should  find  a  way,  and  I've  found  it.  Wish  me  good 
luck!" 

That  was  all  there  was  to  it.  Although  Nan  Lockhart 
was  more  than  anxious  as  to  what  might  underlie  Fanny's 
mystifying  language,  she  could  not  doubt,  when  Fanny 
presently  set  forth  from  the  house,  that  she  was  going,  as 
she  had  declared,  to  the  manse.  It  was  by  now  four  in 
the  afternoon.  Nan  had  offered  to  accompany  her  friend, 
saying  that  she  thought,  if  Fanny  must  go,  that  she  would 
best  not  go  alone.  She  had  been  told  that  she  was  a 
meddling  old  granny,  and  that  her  place  was  by  the  fire 
side.  So — with  a  kiss — Miss  Fitch  had  walked  away,  and 
as  Nan  anxiously  watched  her  go  down  the  street  she  had 
been  forced  to  admit  to  herself,  as  she  had  admitted  many 
times  before,  that  there  was  an  unexplainable  and  irresisti 
ble  witchery  about  Fanny,  and  that  there  could  be  little 
doubt  that  somebody  was  in  danger.  She  wondered 
which  of  them  it  was — if  any  could  be  in  greater  danger 
than  Fanny  herself. 

The  master  of  the  manse  was  at  home  when  his  bell 
rang  presently,  so  it  fell  out,  though  ten  minutes  before 
he  had  not  been  there,  nor  would  have  been  ten  minutes 
later.  He  had  rushed  in  for  a  certain  book  he  wanted, 
and  was  just  within  his  own  front  door  when  he  heard  the 
bell.  He  opened  it,  his  thoughts  upon  the  book  in  his 


262  RED  AND  BLACK 

hand — it  was  one  on  "Minor  Tactics,"  by  the  way,  and 
he  wanted  it  for  one  of  his  boys.  So  he  confronted  his 
caller  with  no  means  of  escape — if  he  had  wanted  any. 
Why  mortal  man  should  wish  to  escape  from  the  vision 
of  sad-eyed  beauty  which  awaited  him  upon  his  doorstep 
none  who  had  seen  her  there  could  say — certainly  not 
Gary  Ray,  who  had  seen  her  there,  and  who  was  now 
stalking  angrily  up  and  down  a  side  street,  intent  on  keep- 
tmg  her  somehow  within  his  reach.  He  knew  that  Fanny 
had  meant  to  come — had  she  not  told  him  so?  Why  she 
had  not  let  him  come  with  her 

"I'm  sorry  to  delay  you,  Mr.  Black,  but — I  need  your 
help  very  much.  Will  you  let  me  come  in  for  a  very 
few  minutes?" 

"Certainly,  Miss  Fitch,  come  in." 

What  else  was  there  to  do?  All  sorts  and  classes  of 
people  were  accustomed  to  enter  the  manse  doors  at  all 
hours,  so  why  not  this  girl  in  black  with  the  shadows  under 
her  eyes  and  the  note  of  appeal  in  her  voice,  who  said  she 
needed  his  help?  What  was  he  there  for,  except  to  help? 
And  yet,  somehow,  Robert  Black  had  never  been  quite 
so  unwilling  to  admit  a  visitor.  Something  within  him 
seemed  to  warn  him  that  if  ever  he  had  been  on  his  guard, 
he  must  be  on  it  now. 

If  Nan  could  have  seen  Fanny,  as  she  took  her  seat  in 
the  chair^  Black  placed  for  her,  she  would  have  wondered 
if  she  knew  her  friend,  after  all.  This  the  girl  with  the 
glitter  in  her  eyes,  the  reckless  note  in  her  voice,  the  cap 
tivating  ways  which  Gary  Ray  knew  so  well?  This  was 
a  girl  of  another  sort  altogether;  one  in  deep  trouble,  who 
presented  to  the  man  before  her  a  face  so  sadly  sweet,  lifted 
to  him  eyes  in  which  lay  such  depths  of  anxiety,  that  he 
jmight  well  summon  his  best  resources  to  her  aid.  If 


QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE  263 

ever  sincerity  looked  out  between  lifted  lashes,  it  showed 
between  those  heavily  shadowing  ones  which  were  among 
Fanny's  most  conscious  and  cherished  possessions. 

So  then  Fanny  told  Black  her  story.  It  was  a  touching 
story,  bravely  told.  Whenever  the  lines  of  it  began  to 
verge  too  decidedly  upon  the  pathetic  she  brought  herself 
up,  as  she  caught  her  red  lips  between  her  teeth,  said 
softly,  "Oh,  never  mind  that  part — it's  no  different  from 
thousands  of  others,"  and  went  quietly  and  clearly  on. 
She  told  him  of  the  invalid  mother,  so  dear  and  so  helpless 
— of  the  uncle  who  had  died,  the  one  man  left  in  the 
bereaved  family,  for  whom  she  obviously  wore  her 
mourning — "though  he  would  have  told  me  not,  wonder 
ful  old  man,  who  wanted  nobody  to  grieve  for  him." 
She  spoke  of  the  future,  so  obscure,  and  what  it  was  best 
to  do;  and  now,  suddenly,  when  she  least  expected  it — she 
hesitated,  then  came  frankly  out  with  it — here  was  this 
suitor  besieging  her,  whom  she  must  answer.  And  with 
it  all — she  was  suffering  a  great  longing  for  something 
which  she  had  not — a  sense  that  there  was  a  God  who 
cared,  which  she  found  it,  oh!  so  difficult  to  believe. 
This  last  was  the  greatest,  much  the  greatest,  need  of  all. 
She  had  come  to  him  because  she  knew  no  one  else  who 
could  point  the  way.  .  .  . 

Here  she  rested  her  case,  and  sat  silently  looking 
down  at  her  hands  clasped  tightly  in  her  lap,  her  face  pal 
ing  with  the  stress  of  her  repressed  emotion.  Yes,  it  did 
pale,  as  well  it  might.  When  one  dares  to  play  with 
sacred  things,  small  wonder  if  the  blood  seeps  away  from 
the  capillaries,  and  the  pulse  beats  fast  and  small.  And 
Fanny  knew — who  could  know  better? — that  she  was  play 
ing,  playing  a  desperate  game,  with  the  last  cards  she 
held. 


264  RED  AND  BLACK 

It  was  very  perfect  acting,  and  yet,  somehow,  it  did  not 
make  the  man  who  watched  it  lower  his  guard.  He  had 
had  no  great  experience  with  just  this  sort  of  thing,  and 
yet — he  had  seen  Fanny  act  before,  and  had  detected  in  her 
acting  that  it  never  once  forgot  itself  in  the  grip  of  a  gen 
uine  emotion.  When  she  ceased  speaking,  and  it  became 
necessary  to  answer  her,  he  felt  his  way  with  every  word 
he  spoke. 

"Have  you  told  all  this  to  Miss  Lockhart?"  was  the 
unexpected  question  he  put  to  her. 

Imperceptibly  Fanny  winced,  but  she  replied  quietly: 
"Nan  knows  much,  but  not  all.  She  doesn't  quite  under 
stand  me,  I  think.  I  can  never  make  her  realize  that  flip 
pant  and  frivolous  as  I  can  be  on  the  surface,  underneath 
something  runs  deep." 

"Yet  she  must  want  to  assure  herself  of  that,  she's  so 
finely  genuine  herself.  Ever  since  I  have  known  her  I 
have  thought  her  one  of  the  best-balanced  young  women 
I  ever  knew.  She  seems  very  devoted  to  you.  And  as 
for  her  faith  in  things  unseen,  I  am  sure  it  is  very  real. 
I  don't  see  how  you  could  do  better  than  to  put  yourself 
under  her  tuition." 

"I  have  tried,  Mr.  Black — I  assure  you  I  have.  Nan 
and  I  are  dear  friends,  and  I  respect  and  admire  her  de 
votedly.  But  I  can't  talk  about  these  things  even  to  her. 
Somehow  I  can't  to  any  woman.  I  need — I  think  I  need 
a  man's  point  of  view.  And  not  only  a  man's  but — a 
priest's." 

Her  eyes  lifted  themselves  slowly  to  his,  and  there  was 
a  spiritual  sort  of  beseeching  in  them  which  very  nearly 
veiled  and  covered  the  terribly  human  wish  which  was 
behind.  For  a  moment  Black  wondered  with  a  heart- 
sinking  throb  of  anxiety  if  he  were  right  in  distrusting  her 


QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE  265 

motive  in  coming  to  him  as  he  had  thus  far  distrusted 
it.  How  should  he  dare  not  to  respond  to  her  need,  if  it 
were  real?  How  send  her  from  him  unanswered  and  un 
satisfied,  if  he  could  really  do  anything  for  her?  Why, 
merely  because  she  was  fascinating  to  look  upon,  must  she 
be  a  deceiver;  while  if  she  sat  before  him  with  a  plain  face 
and  red,  white-lashed  eyes,  he  would  be  far  surer  that  she 
was  in  real  distress.  It  wasn't  fair  to  her,  was  it,  to 
doubt  her  without  the  proof? 

While  he  hesitated  over  what  to  say  to  this  appeal,  all 
at  once  he  was  confronted  with  a  new  situation:  one  ever 
calculated  to  weaken  and  undermine  the  judgment  of  man. 
Fanny  sat  close  beside  his  study  desk,  from  the  opposite 
side  of  which  he  faced  her.  When  his  silence  had  lasted 
for  a  full  minute  she  quietly  turned  and  laid  her  arm  upon 
the  desk — a  roundly  white  arm,  the  fair  flesh  showing 
through  the  sheer  black  fabric  of  her  close  sleeve — and 
buried  her  face  in  her  arm.  With  her  free  hand  she  found 
her  handkerchief — one  of  the  two  with  which  she  had 
provided  herself — and  then  Black  saw  that  she  was  softly 
sobbing,  and  seemingly  trying  with  much  difficulty  to 
control  herself. 

Well — was  this  acting,  too?  Can  a  woman  weep  at 
will?  And  if  she  were  as  unhappy  as  she  seemed,  what 
was  he  to  do  about  it  ?  It  was  an  extremely  uncomfortable 
and  disquieting  situation,  and  Black  wondered  for  a 
moment  if  he  could  possibly  see  it  through  without 
blundering.  He  was  wishing  ardently  that  he  had  a 
mother  or  a  sister  at  hand.  There  was  only  Mrs. 
Hodder  whom  he  could  call  in,  and  she  was  assuredly 
not  the  person  to  act  as  duenna  to  this  young  woman. 
To  bring  her  in  would  be  to  send  Fanny  out.  And  was 
it  possible  that  this  was  really  his  opportunity,  and  that 


266  RED  AND  BLACK 

he  must  forget  everything  except  to  use  it  for  all  that  there 
was  in  it  ? 

"I'm  sorry  you  are  unhappy,"  he  said.  "Of  course 
it's  not  possible  for  me  to  advise  you  as  to  Gary  Ray — 
only  yourself  can  answer  that  question.  I've  grown  to 
like  and  respect  him  very  thoroughly,  and  if  you  could  be 
to  him  what  he  needs  in  the  way  of  a  sheet  anchor,  it 
would  help  him  more  than  anything  in  the  world  to  steer 
a  straight  course." 

Fanny  lifted  a  tear-wet  face.  "Would  you  advise  me 
to  marry  him — without — loving  him?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"If  I  cared  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  for — someone 

else "  She  rose  suddenly  to  her  feet,  and  stood  before 

him,  a  tragic,  lovelyfigure  of  despair.  "Oh,"  she  breathed, 
"you  simply  have  to  know — I  can't  keep  it  from  you. 
You  are  going  so  soon — there's  no  time  to  wait.  I — I 
don't  know  what  you  will  think,  but — over  there  you  arc 
going  to  go  into  all  sorts  of  danger.  I  may  never  see  you 
again.  Is  it  a  time  to  be  afraid — for  even  a  woman  to  be 
afraid — to  speak?  You  may  despise  me  for — showing  my 
heart — but — oh,  I  can't  help  it!  Don't — turn  me  away. 
If  you  do,  I  think  I  shall— die!" 

Robert  Black  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone.  He  had  riser 
as  she  had  risen;  he  now  stood  staring  at  her  across  the 
massive  old  black  walnut  desk  as  if  he  could  not  believe 
the  evidence  of  his  own  ears.  If  Fanny  were  to  make  this 
incredible  declaration  at  all,  she  had  done  it  in  the  only 
possible  way — across  that  study  desk.  If  she  had  at 
tempted  to  come  near  him,  to  put  her  hand  in  his,  to  try 
upon  him  the  least  of  all  feminine  arts  in  approaching 
man,  he  would  have  retreated,  bodily  and  spiritually,  and 
have  been  at  once  too  far  away  for  her  to  reach.  But 


QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE  267 

the  very  manner  of  her  appeal  to  him  carried  with  it  a 
certain  dignity.  He  could  not  conceivably  repulse  her 
in  the  same  way  that  he  could  have  done  if  she  had  played 
the  temptress,  or  even  the  woman  who  counts  upon  her 
personal  charm  at  close  range  to  sway  a  man's  heart  and 
influence  his  decision.  Fanny  had  studied  this  man,  and 
gauged  him  well.  If  she  had  any  possible  chance  with 
him  it  was  only  by  making  her  supplication  to  him  from 
a  distance,  and  by  looking,  when  she  had  made  it — as  she 
did  look — like  a  young  princess  who  stoops  to  lift  him  of 
her  choice  to  her  estate.  It  was  undoubtedly  the  greatest 
moment  of  Fanny's  dramatic  experience;  she  was  a  real 
actress  now,  for  beyond  all  question  she  was  living  the 
part  she  acted,  and  the  emotion  which  stirred  her  was  the 
strongest  of  her  life. 

It  was  not  long  that  Black  stared  at  her  white  face,  his 
own  face  paling.  It  was  only  for  a  moment  that  she  let 
him  see  all  she  could  show  him;  then  she  turned  and  walked 
away,  across  the  room,  and  stood  with  her  back  to  him, 
her  hands  clasped  before  her,  her  head  drooping.  The 
figure  she  thus  presented  to  him  was  still  that  of  the  prin 
cess,  but  it  was  also  that  of  the  woman  who,  having  for 
the  instant  lifted  the  veil,  drops  it  again,  and  awaits  in 
proud  patience  the  man's  pronouncement. 

Black  came  slowly  toward  her — it  di$  not  seem  possible 
courteously  to  address  her  across  the  many  feet  of  space 
she  had  now  put  between  them.  He  stopped  when  he  was 
near  enough — and  not  too  near — he  seemed  to  know  rather 
definitely  when  this  point  had  been  reached.  But  before 
he  could  speak  Fanny  herself  broke  the  stillness.  She 
put  out  one  hand  without  turning. 

"Please  don't  come  nearer,"  she  breathed.  "I  can't 
— bear  it." 


268  RED  AND  BLACK 

And  then  she  did  turn,  lifting  to  him  a  face  so  beseech 
ing,  lifting  to  him  for  one  instant's  gesture  arms  so  implor 
ing,  that  if  there  had  been  in  him  one  impulse  towards  her 
he  would  have  been  more  than  man  if  he  had  resisted  her. 
But — how  could  there  be  in  him  one  impulse  towards  her 
when,  with  every  moment  in  her  presence,  there  had  been 
living  more  vividly  in  his  remembrance  that  other  mo 
ment,  now  days  ago,  when  he  had  given  Jane  Ray — "all 
he  had."  Though  never  again — never  again — should 
even  so  brief  a  glory  of  experience  come  to  him,  rather 
would  he  have  that  one  wonderful  memory  than  all 
that  there  might  be  for  him  in  these  two  outstretched 
arms. 

Yet — how  could  he  but  be  pitiful — and  merciful — to 
Fanny  Fitch  ?  To  have  offered  herself  to  him,  and  to  have 
to  stand  there  waiting  to  be  taken  or  refused — there 
seemed  to  him  no  words  too  kind  in  which  to  make  her 
understand.  And  yet — how  to  find  words  at  all! 

"You  must  know,"  he  said  at  last,  and  with  difficulty, 
"that  I  am — that  I  have — no  way  to  tell  you — how  badly 
I  feel  to  have  you  tell  me  this,  and  to  be — unable  to 

"You're  not  unable — you're  just  afraid.  You've  kept 
your  heart  sealed  up  so  long — you've  been  so  frightfully 
discreet — such  a  model  minister — you  don't  know  at  all 
what  you're  putting  away  from  you.  It  will  never 
come  back — you'll  never  have  the  chance  again  I'm 
giving  you — to  live — to  live — oh,  to  live  with  all  there  is 
of  you,  not  just  with  the  nice,  proper,  priestly  side  of  you ! " 
The  passionate  voice  lifted  and  dropped  again  in  choking 
cadences.  "You  think  I  couldn't  adapt  myself,  couldn't 
fill  the  part.  I  could — I  could! — I  would  do  anything 
you  asked  of  me — become  a  mystic,  like  youself- 

"Oh,  stop.'" 


QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE  269 

Fanny  stopped — there  was  no  disobeying  that  low, 
commanding  voice.  She  knew  herself  that  she  had  now 
gone  too  far.  She  stood  with  both  hands  pressed  over 
her  throat,  which  threatened  to  contract  and  shut  off 
her  breathing. 

"I  can't  let  you — I  won't  let  you  go  on.  You're  over 
wrought — you're  not  yourself,  Miss  Fitch.  Your  long 
journey — your  uncle's  death — Gary's  suit — everything 
has  combined  to  overtax  your  nerves.  You're  going  to 
put  away  this  hour  as  if  it  had  never  been,  and  so  am  I. 
You're  going  to  find  happiness  in  being  a  good  friend 
to  Gary,  whether  or  not  anything  comes  of  it.  He's 
worth  all  you  can  give  him — and  you're  going  to  give  him 
your  very  best.  Now — won't  you " 

"Go  away?"  She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  twisted, 
angry  smile.  "Before  you  have — prayed  with  me,  for 
the  good  of  my  wicked  soul  ?  You  might  at  least  do  that, 
since  it's  all  you  can  do  for  me!" 

Suddenly  he  felt  as  if  he  were  in  the  midst  of  cheap 
melodrama,  forced  to  take  a  part  against  his  will.  He  had 
never  believed  in  this  girl,  he  believed  in  her  less  than  ever 
now.  For  a  moment  she  had  convinced  him  that  in  her 
own  fashion  she  loved  him — if  she  knew  what  the  word 
meant.  But  now  he  was  driven  to  believe  that  only  her 
passion  for  excitement  had  brought  this  scene  upon  him, 
and  that  this  last  cynical  speech  was  just  the  expression 
of  her  fondness  for  the  drama.  He  turned  cold  in  an  in 
stant;  his  very  spirit  retreated  from  her. 

"I  should  feel,"  he  said,  very  quietly,  "as  if  I  were 
playing  with  prayer,  if  I  made  use  of  it  just  now.  I  think 
the  best  thing  for  you  is  to  try  to  rest  and  sleep,  and  come 
back  to  a  natural  and  sane  way  of  looking  at  things.  If 
doors  don't  open  at  a  touch,  if  they  are  locked  and  one 


270  RED  AND  BLACK 

has  no  key,  it's  not  wise  to  try  to  force  them.  There  are 
plenty  of  doors  that  will  open  at  your  touch " 

"But  not  yours!  And  now  that  you  have  locked  and 
doubled  barred  it  I  want  to  tell  you  that  it's  too  late* 
I've  seen  inside,  and  know  what  a  chilly,  stony  place  it  is. 
There's  no  fire  there — it's  all  austerity.  No  woman  could 
keep  warm  there,  certainly  not  a  woman  like  me.  I've 
long  wanted  to  know  what  was  behind  that  granite  face 
of  yours,  and  now  I've  found  out.  I've  kept  my  splendid, 
big-hearted  Gary  waiting  till  I  could  satisfy  myself  about 
you,  and  know  that  he  was  worth  two,  three — ten  of  you, 
Robert  Black!  I'm  going  back  to  him — and  happy  to 
go.  Do  you  wish  me  joy?  Or  does  even  doing  that  go 
against  your  flinty  conscience?" 

He  came  toward  her,  pitying  her  again  now,  it  was  so 
obvious  that  she  was  trying  to  save  her  humiliated  face. 

"Miss  Fitch,"  he  said,  gently,  "I  do  wish  you  joy — if 
you  can  find  it  in  anything  genuine.  But  don't  play 
with  Gary  Ray — he  doesn't  deserve  it." 

"Will  you  marry  us  to-night  at  eight  o'clock?" 

He  looked  at  her  steadily.     "You  don't  mean  that!" 

"I  certainly  do.  That  was  what  I  came  for — as  he 
knows.  And  to  settle  a  little  wager  I  had  with  him.  I've 
settled  it.  And  now  I'm  doing  my  real  errand.  Will 
you  marry  us,  Mr.  Robert  Black? — since  you  have  re 
fused — everything  else  ?" 

He  walked  away  from  her  now,  over  to  the  window,  and 
stood  looking  out  for  a  space.  Fanny  watched  him,  her 
head  up,  her  lips  smiling  a  little,  ready  to  face  him  when 
he  turned  again.  He  came  back  at  last,  and  he  spoke 
quietly  and  decidedly. 

"If  you  will  send  Gary  to  me,"  he  said,  "and  he  asks 
me  to  do  this,  I  will  do  it.  Not  otherwise." 


QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE  271 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?  Talk  with  him,  and  try 
to  persuade  him  that  I'm  not  good  enough  for  him?" 

"I  want  to  talk  with  him.  I  want  to  ask  him  to  wait 
to  marry  you  till  he  comes  back." 

"And  why,  if  you  please?" 

"  Because  he's  going  to  find  out,  over  there,  that  life  is 
something  besides  a  game.  And  when  he  comes  back,  if  he 
still  wants  you,  it  will  be  because  you  have  found  it  out, 
too.  Oh,  I  wish — I  wish  with  all  my  heart — you  would  stop 
playing  and  be  real.  Why  not?" 

"I  think,"  said  Fanny  Fitch,  "it's  because  I'm  made 
that  way.  You  might  as  well  give  me  up.  If  I  laugh, 
it's  as  likely  as  not  to  be  because  I  want  to  cry.  And 
if  I  cry,  it's  more  than  likely  to  be  true  that  I'm  laughing 
inside.  I  love  to  act,  on  the  stage  or  off  of  it.  How  can 
I  help  that?  It's  the  true  dramatic  instinct.  How  can 
I  be  any  more  real  than  I  am  ?  Being  what  you  call  unreal 
is  reality  to  me.  If  I  were  to  try  to  be  what  to  you  is 
real,  I  should  be  more  unreal  than  I  am  now.  There, 
Mr.  Minister  what  will  you  do  with  that?" 

Black  shook  his  head.  "You  are  merely  juggling  with 
words  now,"  he  said.  "I  think  you  know  what  I  mean 
as  well  as  I  do.  And  I  think  something  will  happen 
which  will  make  you  unwilling  to  play  with  things — and 
people — as  you  do  now.  Meanwhile " 

The  doorbell  rang  sharply.  It  was  what  Black  had 
been  expecting  all  along.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but 
answer  it.  Mrs.  Hodder  was  accustomed  to  do  this  only 
by  request,  and  he  had  not  asked  her  for  it  to-day,  for 
she  was  more  than  usually  busy  in  her  kitchen.  Black 
went  to  the  door,  leaving  Fanny  behind,  and  hoping 
against  hope  that  it  might  not  be  some  caller  who  would 
be  certain  to  misunderstand  the  whole  situation.  It 


272  RED  AND  BLACK 

proved  to  be  the  one  man  whom  he  could  have  wished  to 
see.  Gary  Ray  had  walked  the  street  to  a  purpose, 
though  he  had  not  known,  for  he  had  met  a  messenger. 
With  his  message  in  his  hand  he  had  rushed  to  the  manse 
door. 

"Is  Fanny  here?" 

"Yes.     Come  into  my  study,  please." 

Breathless  with  his  fast  walk  which  had  been  all  but  a 
run,  Gary  confronted  Fanny  across  the  room.  He  crossed 
it,  seized  her  hands,  and  stood  looking  down  into  her  face 
with  excited  eyes.  The  drops  stood  out  upon  his  forehead. 

"You  put  me  off  too  long,"  he  said.  "I'm  off — no 
time  for  anything  but  to  throw  my  things  together  and 
catch  the  next  train.  I  knew  when  the  orders  came  they'd 
come  this  way.  There  isn't  even  time  for — what  we'd 
have  to  get  first  if  we  did  what  I  wanted.  Perhaps — since 
you  didn't  know  your  own  mind — it's  just  as  well.  Maybe 
— if  I  come  back — you'll  know  it  better.  And  if  I  don't — 
never  mind.  All  I  want  is  to  get  into  the  game  somehow." 

Even  at  the  moment  Fanny  looked  past  Gary  at  Robert 
Black. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "he  calls  it  a  game,  too." 

"He  won't,"  Black  answered,  "when  he  comes  back — 
as  please  God  he  will." 

"I  can't  stop  a  minute.  Will  you  both  go  with  me, 
over  to  my  sister's?" 

"Of  course." 

Black  caught  up  his  hat.  Fanny  snatched  a  glance  at 
herself  as  she  went  by  a  sombre  black-walnut-framed 
mirror  in  the  hall.  Gary  mopped  his  brow  and  ran  a 
finger  round  inside  his  collar.  It  was  quite  plain  that  his 
eagerness  now  was  concentrated  on  the  great  news  of  his 
imminent  departure.  Suddenly  nothing  much  mattered 


QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE  273 

to  him  except  that  at  last  he  was  off,  with  his  longed-for 
chance  before  him.  That  was  the  big  thing  to  him  now, 
not  getting  married  in  haste  and  leaving  a  bride  behind 
him.  It  was  as  plain  as  could  be  in  every  word  he  said, 
and  in  the  joyful  sparkle  in  his  eyes.  Quicksilver  in  a 
tube  was  Gary  Ray — and  the  mercury  had  jumped  all 
but  to  the  top! 

The  following  hour  was  as  wild  a  one  as  only  those  can 
conceive  who  have  had  an  experience  like  it.  At  the  end 
of  it  Gary  and  Jane,  Fanny,  Nan  Lockhart,  and  Robert 
Black  stood  on  the  station  platform  with  six  minutes  to 
spare.  At  almost  the  same  instant  Doctor  Burns's  car 
drew  up,  and  he  and  Mrs.  Burns  joined  the  group. 

"You  are  all  regular  bricks,  you  know,'*  declared  Gary, 
"to  stand  by  me  like  this.  Everybody's  here  I  could  have 
wanted,  except  Tom,  and  since  he  beat  me  to  a  uniform, 
and  there's  no  way  of  getting  his  training  camp  on  the 
wire  in  a  hurry,  I'll  have  to  go  off  unsped  by  him.  But  I 
know  what  he'd  say:  'This  is  the  life!'  He's  said  it  to 
me  at  least  once  a  week  on  a  postcard,  ever  since  he  left 
us." 

"If  you  are  half  as  happy  to  be  in  it  as  he  is "  began 

Nan. 

"I'm  twice  as  happy — no  question  of  it.     And  I  want 

to  tell  all  you  people "     Gary  paused,  looked  quickly 

from  one  to  another,  and  his  bright  glance  fell.  "No,  I 
don't  believe  I  can,"  he  confessed,  "at  least  not  in  a  group 
like  this.  I  think  what  little  I  can  say  I  owe  my  sister. 
If  you'll  forgive  me  I'll  take  her  down  the  platform  a  bit 
and  give  her  my  parting  instructions." 

He  grasped  her  arm  and  walked  away  with  her,  the 
friendly  eyes  following  the  pair.  Friendly?  Black  couldn't 
help  wondering  just  what  Fanny  was  thinking  as  she 


274  RED  AND  BLACK 

looked  after  them.  Certainly  she  was  paler  than  he  had 
ever  seen  her — or  was  that  her  unaccustomed  sombre 
attire? 

"Sis,"  Gary  said  in  Jane's  ear,  "it's  tough  to  go  like 
this,  after  all,  with  all  the  things  I  want  to  say  left  up  in 
the  air.  I  hope  you'll  somehow  make  those  trumps  back 
there  know  what  their  friendship  has  meant  to  me. — I 
say — "  he  broke  off  to  stare  at  her — "by  George!  I  didn't 
know  you  were  so  easy  to  look  at,  little  girl.  You — you — 
why  you're  the  sweetest  thing  that  ever  happened — and 
not  just  soft  sweet,  either — stingingly  sweet,  I  should  put 
it." 

"Dear,  you're  just  seeing  me  through  the  eyes  of 
parting.  Gary,  when  I  get  across  we  can  surely  meet 
sometimes,  can't  we  ?  Correspondents  have  more  freedom 
of  movement  than  other  men,  I'm  sure." 

"We'll  try  it,  anyhow.  Janie — I  want  you  to  know 
how  I  just  plain  worship  you  for  sticking  by  and  pulling 
me  out  of  the  ditch  the  way  you  have — you  and  Bob 
Black,  and  the  Doctor.  Words  can't  say  it — but  maybe 
actions  can.  I'm  taking  you  three  with  me — and  leaving 
behind  a  girl  who  doesn't  know  whether  she  wants  me  or 
not.  Best  thing  to  do — eh?" 

Well,  he  was  excited,  strung  to  a  high  tension,  eager  to 
be  off — it  could  be  read  in  his  every  word  and  look.  He 
had  barely  said  these  things  to  Jane  before  he  had  her 
back  with  the  others,  and  was  getting  off  gay,  daring 
speeches  to  one  and  another,  sometimes  aloud,  sometimes 
under  his  breath  for  one  ear  only.  The  words  he  left  with 
Fanny  Fitch  stayed  with  her  for  many  a  day. 

"Get  into  the  game,  somehow — will  you?  You  can  do 
that  much  for  me,  anyhow.  If  you  will  I'll  call  it  square — 
of  you." 


QUICKSILVER  IN  A  TUBE  275 

When  he  had  gone,  his  handsome,  eager  face  laughing 
back  at  them  from  the  rear  platform  of  his  train,  Robert 
Black  found  himself  following  Gary  with  an  involuntary 
"God  bless  and  keep  you  safe,  Gary  Ray!"  the  more 
fervent  that  it  was  unuttered.  Suddenly  his  heart  was 
very  anxious  for  this  audacious  and  lovable  fellow.  Hovr 
would  he  come  through?  Yet  it  was  not  of  Gary's  life 
that  he  was  thinking. 

Determinedly  he  took  his  place  beside  Jane.  The  party 
had  dismissed  their  taxicab,  now  that  the  rush  for  the 
train  was  over,  and  were  walking  back.  It  was  no  time 
to  allow  circumstances  or  other  people  to  come  between 
them. 

"Oh,  how  I  wish,"  breathed  Jane,  "that  I  could  go 
this  very  night.  I  want  so  much  to  get  away  before — 
you  do." 

"And  I'm  wanting  to  go  before  you!  If  you  go  first 
I  shall  see  you  off.  If  I  go  first,  will  you  do  the  same  for 
me?" 

"Your  whole  church  will  be  there." 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it.  But  even  if  they  are,  it  will  make 
no  difference.  I  shall  want  to  look  last  at — you." 

"Did  you  think,"  admitted  Jane,  smiling,  "that  I 
could  possibly  stay  away?" 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  ALTAR  OF  HIS  PURPOSE 

1  THINK  maybe— it's  come,  Mr.  Black." 
Mrs.  Hodder,  housekeeper  to  the  manse,  stood 
trembling  in  the  study  doorway,  a  telegram  in  her  hand. 
Yes,  Mrs.  Hodder  was  trembling.  Robert  Black  would 
never  know  how  like  a  mother  she  felt  toward  him.  A 
lonely,  more  than  middle-aged  woman  can't  bake  and 
brew  and  sew  on  buttons  and  generally  look  after  a  bach 
elor  of  any  sort  without  coming  to  have  a  strong  interest 
in  him — normally  a  maternal  one.  And  when  the  bach 
elor  is  one  who  treats  her  with  the  consideration  and  friend 
liness  this  man  had  always  shown  Henrietta  Hodder,  small 
wonder  if  she  comes  to  have  a  proprietary  interest  in 
him  little  short  of  that  belonging  to  actual  kinship. 

Black  jumped  up  from  his  desk.  It  was  Saturday  night, 
and  his  sermon  was  still  in  preparation.  This  was  unusual 
with  him,  but  everything  that  could  happen  had  happened, 
this  week,  to  consume  his  time  and  delay  him.  Every 
body,  it  seemed  to  him,  in  his  parish,  had  needed  his  ser 
vices  for  some  crisis  or  other.  He  was  tired  of  body  and 
jaded  of  spirit,  and  he  was  extremely  discontent  with  the 
outlines  for  the  sermon  which  he  had  with  difficulty  drag 
ged  out  of  his  unwilling  mind.  And  now,  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye,  everything  was  changed. 

He  read  the  message  in  one  hurried  instant.  Yes,  it 
was  here,  couched  in  military  language  with  military 

276 


THE  ALTAR  OF  HIS  PURPOSE       277 

brevity.  He  was  to  proceed  at  once — nobody  in  the 
Service  is  ever  ordered  to  go  anywhere,  always  to  proceed 
— and  to  report  within  forty-eight  hours  to  his  command 
ing  officer  at  a  camp  at  a  long  distance.  This  meant — 
yes,  of  course  it  meant — that  he  must  leave  town  by  the 
following  evening,  Sunday  evening.  And  it  meant  also, 
equally  of  course,  that  between  this  hour  and  that  he  must 
be  practically  every  minute  on  the  jump.  Well,  he 
couldn't  but  be  glad  of  that. 

His  weariness  vanished  like  magic.  Mrs.  Hodder, 
watching  him  read  the  message,  knew  by  the  way  he 
stiffened  and  straightened  those  shoulders  of  his,  which 
had  been  humped  over  his  desk  when  she  came  to  the  door, 
that  the  expected  call  had  come.  He  looked  at  her  over 
the  yellow  sheet. 

"Yes — this  is  it!"  he  said.  "I  must  be  off — to-morrow 
night." 

She  swallowed  a  great  lump  in  her  throat.  "I  expect — 
there'll  be  a  many  things  to  do,"  she  said.  "I've  got 
your  clo'es  in  order — I've  been  keeping  them  mended  up, 
ready — your  socks  and  all." 

Black  smiled.  It  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  tell  her 
that  not  an  article  of  his  ordinary  apparel  would  go  with 
him  to  France,  but  he  hadn't  the  heart  just  then.  It 
struck  him  that  Mrs.  Hodder  was  looking  a  little  odd  to 
night — strangely  pale  for  one  whose  countenance  was 
usually  rather  florid.  Then — he  saw  her  hand  shake  as 
she  put  it  up  to  smooth  back  her  already  smooth  gray  hair, 
an  act  invariable  with  her  when  disturbed  in  mind.  It 
came  over  him  that  his  housekeeper  was  not  just  happy 
over  his  wonderful  news.  And  suddenly,  he  almost  under 
stood  why.  Not  quite.  How  could  he  know  what  ravages 
he  had  committed  upon  that  staid,  elderly  heart? — he  who 


278  RED  AND  BLACK 

had  borne  himself  with  such  discretion  under  this  roof 
that  he  had  never  so  much  as  touched  the  woman's  hand 
except  to  shake  it. 

His  own  heart  suffered,  at  this  instant,  its  first  pang 
at  the  thought  of  leaving  this  comfortable  home  of  his 
and  the  ministrations  of  this  plain  person  who  had — yes, 
she  had  done  her  best  to  mother  him — he  knew  it  now — as 
far  as  a  woman  could  who  was  shut  away  by  all  sorts  of  in 
visible  barriers  from  any  real  approach.  He  put  out  his 
hand  and  took  her  trembling  one  and  held  it  in  both  his 
own.  He  was  a  chaplain  now,  he  was  leaving  his  parish, 
he  could  do  as  his  will  dictated! 

"I  want  you  to  know,"  he  said,  "that  I  appreciate,  as 
well  as  a  man  can,  every  thought  you  have  taken  for  me. 
You've  made  this  house  seem  as  much  like  a  real  home  as 
you  could  possibly  have  done.  I  shall  remember  it 
always." 

Pale?  Had  she  been  pale?  She  had  flushed,  in  an  odd, 
mottled  sort  of  way,  to  her  very  ears — and  the  back  of  her 
neck.  Her  breath  seemed  to  come  a  little  short  as  she 
answered  him. 

"But — you'll  be  coming  back,  Mr.  Black?"  she  ques 
tioned,  anxiously.  "You're  only  going  for — a  while? 
I'll — you'll — I  wanted  to  speak  for  the  place  again,  if  I 
might,  when — you  come  back,  sir." 

Black's  softening  face  hardened  suddenly.  "No,  I 
don't  expect  to  come  back  to  this  parish,  Mrs.  Hodder," 
he  said.  "I'm  resigning  to-morrow." 

"What's  that?" 

A  deep  voice  boomed  from  the  hall  outside,  and  Black 
and  Mrs.  Hodder  turned  together.  Red  appeared  in  the 
doorway  of  the  study,  having  met  the  telegraph  messenger 
coming  away  just  outside  the  house.  He  was,  by  now, 


THE  ALTAR  OF  HIS  PURPOSE       279 

the  sort  of  friend  who  follows  up  a  telegraph  messenger 
on  the  chance  that  he  may  be  needed. 

Mrs.  Hodder  knew  her  place,  if  momentarily  her  master 
himself  had  caused  her  to  forget  it.  She  withdrew  her 
hand  from  Black's  and  left  the  room  hurriedly;  and  the 
tears  which  flowed  the  moment  she  was  out  of  sight  were 
not  wholly  unhappy  ones.  As  for  her  hand — the  hand  he 
had  held  so  warm  y  in  both  his — well,  it  was  a  very  pre 
cious  hand  to  her  now.  Like  Jane  Ray,  she  had  "some 
thing  to  remember!" 

"What's  that  you  say?"  demanded  Red,  coming  in  like 
a  gathering  tornado.  "I  know  you've  got  your  orders,  or 
you  wouldn't  be  found  holding  your  housekeeper's  hand. 
But — what  in  thunder  do  you  mean  by  saying  you're 
resigning  your  church?" 

Black  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  desk — he  was  rather 
glad  to  sit  down  on  something  if  an  argument  with  R.  P. 
Burns  in  his  present  mood  was  to  take  place.  Not  that 
there  could  be  any  argument,  but  he  knew  the  signs  of 
warfare  when  he  saw  them. 

"Why,  there's  nothing  else  to  do,"  he  replied,  quietly. 

"Nothing  else  to  do!  Do  you  mean  to  say  they're  not 
giving  you  a  leave  of  absence?" 

Black  shook  his  head.     "I've  not  asked  for  any." 

"But  they  know  you're  going?" 

"  Know  I'm  likely  to  go.  It  was  only  fair  to  tell  them 
that  to  give  them  a  chance  to  look  around  for  a  successor. 
I've  been  perfectly  frank  with  Mr.  Lockhart  about  it. 
He's  been  skeptsical  all  along  as  to  my  getting  the  call  for 
a  good  while  yet,  but  I've  warned  him  over  and  over  that 
it  might  come — just  as  it  has  come.  So — I'm  resigning 
in  the  morning,  and  getting  off  at  night.  Good  way  to 
go— isn't  it  ? " 


280  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Good  way  for  you — and  a  blamed  poor  way  for  some  of 
the  rest  of  us.  See  here!  Oh,  hang  that  church — what's 
the  matter  with  it?  Why,  my  wife  didn't  know  this. 
She  supposes,  of  course,  you're  going  on  leave.  She  thinks, 
as  I  did,  that  the  parish  has  got  a  string  on  you  that 
amounts  to  a  rope,  to  haul  you  back  with.  Do  you  mean 

to  say Why,  confound  Sam  Lockhart!  I  thought  he 

was  one  of  your  best  friends. " 

"He  is." 

"I  know,"  admitted  Red,  "you  haven't  been  particu 
larly  easy  to  get  along  with.  You  preached  war  when 
they  wanted  you  to  breathe  peace,  ever  since  you  came. 
You've  insisted  on  picturing  the  flowing  blood  over  there 
when  it  made  some  of  'em  feel  ill  just  to  hear  about  it. 
You've  had  your  way  about  a  lot  of  things,  Bob,  that  they 
were  accustomed  to  manage  their  way.  I  suspect  you've 
been  a  thorn  in  some  folks'  flesh — bless  your  dogged  spirit! 
But — my  faith!" — and  his  eyes  shot  fire — "to  let  you 

cut  loose  and  go  to  war,  without Why,  they  ought  to 

be  proud  to  send  you.  They  ought  to  take  you  to  the 
station  with  a  brass  band.  They  ought " 

"Oh,  see  here!"  Black  slid  off  the  desk-edge,  came  over 
to  his  friend,  and  caught  him  by  both  shoulders.  "You 
can't  make  people  over  by  roaring  at  them  in  my  study. 
And  much  as  I  want  to  see  you,  and  warm  as  you  make 
the  cockles  of  my  heart  by  your  roars,  I've  got  to  put  you 
out  and  get  down  to  work.  Why,  man,  do  you  realize 
this  changes  all  my  plans  for  to-morrow  in  an  instant? 
I  can't  preach  the  thing  I  meant  to  preach — not  now. 
I've  had  just  one  text  in  mind  for  my  last  Sunday  here, 
whenever  it  should  be,  and  I've  got  to  preach  on  that  if 
I  stay  up  all  night  to  think  k  out.  And  since  it's 
already " 


THE  ALTAR  OF  HIS  PURPOSE       281 

Red  pulled  out  his  watch.  "Yes,  it's  ten  o'clock  this 
minute.  All  right — I'll  get  out.  But  first — lad " 

He  paused.  The  flow  of  his  words,  which  had  been  well 
started  for  a  torrent,  halted,  ceased.  He  cleared  his 
throat.  He  took  his  lower  lip  between  his  teeth  and  bit 
it  savagely,  then  released  it,  waited  a  minute  longer,  and 
spoke.  But — could  this  be  Red  speaking? 

"Bob/'  he  said,  "before  you  go — will  you  take  me  into 
your  church?" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  because  Black's  heart 
simply  stopped — turned  over — and  then  went  on  again; 
and  an  interval  of  experience  like  that  always  makes 
speech  impossible.  And  when  he  did  speak  all  he  could 
say  was: 

"Oh,  Red!" 

"All  right.     Now,  I'll  go." 

Black's  hand  seized  his.  The  two  hands  gripped  till 
they  practically  stopped  the  circulation  in  both. 

"I'll  get  consent  to  have  a  special  communion  service 
in  the  morning — I  should  have  wanted  it  anyway.  You 
know,  of  course,  you'll  have  to  come  before " 

Red  nodded.  "I  don't  like  that  part.  You're  the 
only  man  I  want  to  come  before — but  I'll  go  through  the 
usual  procedure.  I  may  not  measure  up  to " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will.  You've  always  measured  up,  only 
you  wouldn't  admit  it.  Don't  mind  about  that — just 
answer  the  questions  in  your  own  way.  See  here,  Red " 

But  he  couldn't  say  it,  and  Red  knew  that  he  couldn't — 
and  didn't  want  him  to.  Didn't  Red  know  without  being 
told  that  if  there  was  one  thing  that  could  take  the  sore 
ness  out  of  Black's  heart  over  having  his  church  let  him 
go  like  this,  it  would  be  his  receiving  this  other  great  desire 
of  his  heart?  How  did  Red  know  that  Black  wanted  him 


282  RED  AND  BLACK 

in  his  church?  Why,  they  had  become  friends!  There 
need  be  no  other  explanation. 

So  then  Red  went  away.  Where  he  went  doesn't 
matter,  just  now,  though  wherever  it  was  he  went  straight 
as  an  arrow  to  it — rather,  he  went  straight  as  one  of  those 
famous  seventy-five  millimetre  shells  of  the  Great  War 
went  to  its  objective.  And  when  he  hit  the  spot  some 
thing  blew  up  and  things  were  never  the  same  again  in 
that  particular  place,  quite  as  he  had  intended  they 
shouldn't  be.  For  a  new  member  of  the  Stone  Church — 
which  he  wasn't — yet — his  activities  seemed  to  begin 
rather  early. 

Black  sat  down  to  his  new  sermon.  No,  he  walked  the 
floor  with  it.  He  had  said  there  was  just  one  text  he 
wanted  for  that  sermon,  and  given  that  text,  plus  the 
tremendous  stimulus  of  the  complete  change  in  the  situa 
tion,  he  could  hardly  stand  up  under  the  rush  of  his 
thoughts  about  it.  Instead  of  ploughing  heavily,  as  he 
had  been  doing,  his  mind  was  now  working  with  lightning 
rapidity.  There  was  no  time  to  write  the  new  sermon 
out,  he  could  only  frame  its  outlines  and  stop  at  his  desk, 
every  now  and  then,  to  make  notes  of  the  filling  in.  By 
midnight  it  was  complete — the  last  sermon  he  was  to 
preach  in  this  church;  it  might  easily  be  the  last  he  would 
ever  preach  in  any  church.  That  didn't  matter;  all  that 
mattered  was  that  he  should  get  his  white-hot  belief  upon 
the  cold  anvil  of  his  audience's  intelligence  and  th'ere  ham 
mer  it  into  shape  till  the  anvil  was  as  hot  as  metal,  and 
something  had  taken  form  that  had  never  had  form  before. 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  he  finally  went  to  bed.  It  was 
four  o'clock  when  he  went  to  sleep,  six  when  he  awoke. 
When  his  eyes  opened  he  had  a  new  thing  on  his  mind — 
and  it  was  an  old  thing — a  thing  he  had  long  meant  to  do 


THE  ALTAR  OF  HIS  PURPOSE       283 

and  had  never  done.  Strange  that  it  should  rise  up  to 
bother  him  now  when  the  day  was  already  so  full!  He 
tried  to  put  it  aside.  He  was  sorry,  but  it  was  too  late, 
now.  A  pity  that  he  hadn't  seen  to  it  long  ago,  but  it  was 
certainly  too  late  now. 

Was  it  too  late?  And  why  was  the  thought  of  it  knock 
ing  so  persistently  at  the  door  of  his  plans  for  the  day  if  it 
were  not  that  it  was  for  him  to  do,  after  all?  Somehow 
he  couldn't  put  it  aside — the  remembrance  of  that  forlorn 
and  neglected  community,  up  on  the  hills,  so  near  and  yet 
so  far,  where  he  had  buried  Sadie  Dunstan,  and  to  which 
he  had  always  meant  to  return — some  day.  And  that 
day  had  never  come.  Well,  he  had  been  incessantly  busy 
— he  could  have  done  no  more.  Demands  upon  his  time 
and  strength  had  called  him  in  every  direction  but — that. 
Yet  probably  he  had  been  no  more  needed  anywhere  than 
there.  Too  bad,  but  it  was  most  certainly  too  late 
now. 

At  seven  his  telephone  rang.  It  was  Red's  voice  which 
hailed  him: 

"I  just  want  to  put  myself  at  your  disposal  for  the  day 
as  far  as  I  can  cut  my  work  to  do  it.  Jim  Macauley  says 
if  you  want  his  seven-passenger  for  any  purpose  whatever 
consider  him  yours  to  command.  He  thought  you  might 
want  to  pay  some  farewell  visits  or  something,  and  would 
like  to  take  a  few  people  along.  Plenty  of  candidates 
for  the  job — you'll  have  to  pick  and  choose.  What  time 
do  I — face  the  music?" 

"Just  before  church,  Red — ten  o'clock  in  the  vestry 
room.  I've  called  them  all — they  don't  know  whom  it  is 
they're  to  meet.  About  the  car — thank  you  and  Macauley. 
I  want  very  much  to  go  up  on  the  hills,  where  Sue  Dunstan 
came  from,  and  hold  a  little  open  air-service  this  afternoon. 


284  RED  AND  BLACK 

I  m  going  to  ask  two  of  my  boys  to  run  up  there  and  get 
as  many  people  notified  as  possible." 

"Great  Caesar!  That  the  way  you're  going  to  spend 
your  last  hours?  Why,  Ellen  is  planning  to  open  our 
house  for  all  your  friends  and " 

"Thank  her  heartily  for  me,  will  you?  And  tell  her 
that  if  she  and  you  will  go  along  with  me  up  there  I'll  like 
it  much  better  than  anything  else  she  can  do  for  me.  I 
want  to  take  Miss  Ray,  too,  if  I  may." 

"Anything  you  say  goes,  of  course.  I  told  my  wife  I 
doubted  if  you'd  stand  for  the  reception  idea,  and  I  don't 
blame  you  for  not  wanting  it,  but — I  didn't  expect  you'd 
want  to  do  a  stunt  like  that.  All  right — I'll  stand  by. 
Sure  you  don't  want  to  preach  to  the  crowd  that'll  be  at 
the  station  ?  Wonderful  opportunity — better  not  miss  it ! " 

"See  you  at  ten  o'clock,  Red.  Stop  joking  about  this 
day  of  mine." 

"  I'm  not  joking — I'm  just  whistling  to  keep  my  courage 
up.  If  you  think  this  day  is  anything  but  deadly  serious 
to  me " 

"I  know  it  is.  Good-bye — Best  Friend!"  And  Black 
hung  up  the  receiver  on  those  last  words  which  he  would 
hardly  yet  have  ventured  to  speak  if  the  two  men  had  been 
face  to  face.  But  his  heart  was  warm  with  a  great  love 
for  Red  this  day — and  a  great  reverent  exultation  over 
what  was  soon  to  happen.  Why  not  speak  the  words  that 
soon,  call  he  ever  so  loudly,  could  not  be  heard,  except 
by  the  hearing  of  the  spirit? 

He  rushed  through  his  breakfast — it  was  a  banquet,  if  he 
had  known  it,  prepared  by  devoted  hands — and  all  but 
ran  through  the  early  morning  streets  to  the  dismantled 
shop  and  home  on  the  little  side  street.  Sue  admitted 
him,  and  took  him  through  to  the  rear  garden  where  Jane, 


THE  ALTAR  OF  HIS  PURPOSE       285 

in  working  dress,  was  packing  a  box.  She  stood  up,  and 
the  colour  rushed  into  her  face  at  sight  of  him. 

"I  have  my  call — I  go  to-night.  I'm  the  lucky  one  to 
go  first  and  leave  you  behind.  But  I'm  sorry  about  that, 
too." 

She  pulled  off  the  gloves  which  had  protected  her  hands, 
unfastened  her  apron,  gave  both  to  Sue,  and  sent  her  inside 
with  them.  Then  she  faced  him. 

"Somehow  I  knew  it  was  close  at  hand,"  she  said. 
"To-night!  Well " 

"This  afternoon  will  you  go  with  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Burns 
and  me — and  Sue — I  should  like  to  take  Sue — up  to  the 
hills'where  the  Dunstans  lived  ?  I  want  to  say  a  few  things 
to  those  people  up  there  before  I  go.  I  always  meant  to  do 
it,  and  never  seemed  to  get  around  to  it.  Somehow  I 
can't  go  away  without  doing  it.  And  I  want  you  there." 

She  nodded.  "Of  course  I'll  go.  I — yes,  I'll  go — of 
course.  Oh,  how  glad  you  are  to  be  off — and  how  I  envy 
you!" 

"Are  you  coming  to  church  this  morning?" 

"Oh!— I— think— not." 

"Jane!" 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  away  again.  "I  don't  think 
I — can,"  she  said. 

He  was  silent  for  a  minute,  studying  her.  In  the  bright 
light  of  the  Sabbath  morning,  there  in  the  garden,  she  had 
never  seemed  to  him  a  more  perfect  thing.  Every  little 
chestnut  hair  that  grew  away  from  her  brow,  curving  up 
ward  in  an  exquisite  sweep  from  her  small  ear,  stood  out 
in  that  light;  the  texture  and  colour  of  her  cheek,  the  poise 
of  her  head  upon  her  white,  strong  neck — somehow  he 
couldn't  help  noting  these  lovely  details  as  he  had  almost 
never  noted  them  before.  It  was  as  if  he  saw  her  through 


286  RED  AND  BLACK 

eyes  sharpened  already  by  absence  and  loneliness.  He 
tried  to  fix  the  image  of  her  upon  the  tablet  of  his  mind — 
just  the  sheer  physical  image  of  her,  as  he  might  have  put 
away  a  photograph  in  his  pocket,  to  carry  with  him.  Yet 
it  was  something  far  more  subtle  than  that  that  he  was 
trying  to  fix — her  whole  personality,  body  and  mind  and 
spirit — this  was  what  he  found  himself  wanting  to  take 
with  him  in  a  way  that  he  could  never  let  go,  no  matter 
how  far  away  from  her  he  might  be. 

"I'm  sorry  you  don't  think  you  can,"  he  said  at  last, 
gently.  "Do  you  know  that  I  never  even  asked  it  of  you 
before?"' 

"Do  you  ask  it  now?  You  only  said — 'are  you 
coming?"1 

"Didn't  that  tell  the  story?  I  don't  see  how  I  can 
quite — bear  it — if  you  don't." 

"Then — I  will.  But  I  shall  sit  very  far  back,  and  you 
may  not  even  see  me." 

"I  shall  see  you — if  you  are  there  at  all." 

He  had  to  hurry  away  then.  There  was  no  time  to  lose 
if  he  would  do  half  the  things  that  must  be  done  that  day. 
But  long  afterward  in  dark  and  dreadful  scenes,  the  very 
antitheses  of  this  one,  he  could  close  his  eyes  and  see  the 
little  old  garden,  with  its  rows  of  pink  and  white  and  deep 
rose  hollyhocks  against  the  vine-covered  wall,  and  see  Jane 
standing  in  the  bright  sunlight.  He  must  always  remem 
ber,  too,  what  it  cost  him  to  stand  there  beside  her,  and 
watch  her,  and  know  that,  as  with  everything  he  looked 
upon  that  day,  it  might  be  for  the  last  time.  It  had  taken 
every  particle  of  will  he  had  to  leave  her.  Fortunate  for 
him  that  that  will  had  had  a  long  schooling  in  doing  what 
it  must,  not  what  it  would! 

Ten  o'clock — and  Red   at  the  vestry  door.      Within 


THE  ALTAR  OF  HIS  PURPOSE       287 

that  door  a  strange  Red,  grave  and  quiet,  facing  a  circle 
of  surprised  and  deeply  interested  men,  wondering  within 
themselves  how  it  had  ever  come  about.  A  dignified 
candidate  was  this,  who  answered  questions,  as  Black 
had  bidden  him,  in  his  own  abrupt  and  original  way,  and 
more  than  once  startled  his  questioners  not  a  little.  It 
was  at  least  three  times  that  Black  had  to  use  all  the  tact 
and  discretion  at  his  disposal  to  prevent  a  clash  of  arms 
when  it  came  to  some  technicality  which  to  some  man's 
mind  was  an  important  one.  But  in  the  end  they  were 
satisfied.  Not  one  of  them  but  knew  that  if  Dr.  Redfield 
Pepper  Burns  had  come  to  the  point  where  he  was  willing 
to  call  the  old  Stone  Church  his  own,  it  could  only  be  be 
cause  some  deep  antagonism  had  given  way — and  that, 
of  itself,  was  enough  to  commend  him  to  them.  Such  a 
power  as  Red  was  in  the  whole  community,  he  could  be  in 
the  church,  if  he  would.  And  now  that  he  would,  they 
must  let  him  in,  if  they  were  not  fools.  And  fools  they 
were  not — and  some  of  them  were  of  those  whose  knowl 
edge  is  not  wholly  of  earth,  because  it  has  been  taught  of 
heaven.  So  they  accepted  Red,  as  well  they  might,  though 
he  was  as  far  from  being  a  saint  as  any  one  of  themselves, 
nor  ever  would  be  one,  while  he  remained  below  the  stars. 
The  Church  Militant  is  no  place  for  saints,  only  for 
human  beings  who  would  keep  one  another  company  on 
a  difficult  road — and  the  company  of  One  who  went  before 
and  knows  all  the  hardships — and  the  glories — of  the  way. 
Eleven  o'clock,  and  Black  in  his  pulpit.  He  faced  a  con 
gregation  which  filled  every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  large 
audience  room,  and  stretched  away  into  the  distance  in 
rooms  beyond  opened  for  the  emergency.  News  travels 
fast,  and  this  news  had  gone  like  lightning  about  the  town, 
for  a  very  good  reason.  Black  had  summoned  only  two 


288  RED  AND  BLACK 

of  his  young  men,  despatching  them  to  the  hills  to  go  from 
house  to  house  there.  But  these  two,  before  they  went, 
had  done  a  little  despatching  on  their  own  initiative,  with 
the  result  to  be  expected.  It  was  a  great  hour,  and  too 
great  honour  could  not  be  done. 

As  he  rose  to  speak  Black's  heart  was  very  full.  Jane 
was  there — he  knew,  because  he  had  deliberately  watched 
both  doors  until  he  had  seen  her  come  in.  And  she  was 
not  far  away  in  a  back  seat,  as  she  had  said  she  would  be. 
Instead,  she  had  permitted  an  eager  young  usher,  in  search 
of  a  place  in  the  already  full  church,  to  lead  her  away  down 
to  the  very  front,  though  at  one  side  and  almost  behind  a 
tall  pillar.  He  had  seen  her  slip  into  this  pew,  evidently 
asking  to  change  places  with  a  child  who  had  the  pillar 
seat,  one  well  screened  from  the  rest  of  the  congregation. 
Once  Black  had  seen  her  safely  in  this  place,  so  near  him, 
he  breathed  more  deeply.  He  could  forget  everything 
now,  except  this,  his  last  chance,  with  that  molten  metal 
he  had  been  making  ready  for  this  hour. 

"And  He,  bearing  His  cross,  went  forth  into  a  place  called 
the  -place  of  a  skull,  which  is  called  in  the  Hebrew  Golgotha" 

What  happens,  in  the  hour  when  a  man  gives  himself 
to  a  task  like  this;  when  all  that  he  is,  or  ever  hopes  to  be, 
he  lays  upon  the  altar  of  his  purpose  ?  Human  he  may  be, 
and  weak,  utterly  inadequate,  as  far  as  his  own  power 
goes,  to  do  the  thing  he  longs  to  do.  And  yet — well, 
many  a  man  knows  what  it  is  to  feel  his  spirit  suddenly 
strengthen  with  the  hour  of  need,  to  feel  pour  into  it  some 
thing  intangible  yet  absolutely  real  and  definite — and 
Divine — to  know  himself  able  to  take  the  minds  and 
hearts  and  wills  of  men  into  his  two  human  hands  and 
mould  them  in  spite  of  themselves.  And  this,  as  he  had 
hoped  and  prayed  upon  his  knees,  was  what  happened  to 


THE  ALTAR  OF  HIS  PURPOSE       289 

Robert  Black  this  last  morning  of  his  ministry  to  these 
people.  He  could  not  have  asked  for  a  greater  gift — no, 
not  if  by  putting  out  his  hand  he  could  have  taken  Jane's 
hand  and  led  her  away  with  him.  For  that  hour,  at  least, 
as  he  had  wished,  the  man  was  lost  in  the  priest;  he  was 
consecrated,  heart  and  soul,  to  his  task.  How  should 
those  before  him  resist  him — the  messenger  who  spoke 
to  them  with  the  tongue  of  inspiration?  For  so  he  spoke. 

Christ  upon  the  battle-field — that  was  his  theme.  Of 
itself  it  was  a  moving  theme;  as  he  made  use  of  it  it  became 
a  glorious  one.  Those  who  listened  seemed  almost  to  see 
a  manly,  compassionate  Figure  moving  among  His  young 
soldiers,  living  in  the  trenches  with  them,  facing  the  fight 
with  them,  enduring  the  long  night  with  them,  lifting  their 
hearts,  speaking  to  their  spirits — inhabiting  the  place  of 
the  skull  as  they  inhabited  it — and  when  the  bullet  or  the 
bit  of  shrapnel  had  gone  home,  saying  "/  am  with  you,  be 
not  afraid." 

Who  shall  describe  the  preaching  of  a  great  sermon? 
The  pen  has  not  been  made  which  may  do  more  than  sketch 
the  various  outlines  of  either  experience — that  of  preacher 
or  that  of  listener,  when  God  thus  speaks  to  human  hearts 
through  human  lips.  Reporter's  flying  pencil  may  take 
down  the  burning  words  themselves  without  an  error; 
only  the  shadow  of  the  mountain  falls  upon  the  plane  of 
his  notebook.  Preacher  may  only  say:  "He  spoke 
through  me  to-day — somehow  I  know  it";  listener  may 
only  think:  "I  heard  what  I  never  heard  before,  or  may 
again."  Only  He  who  inspired  the  message  may  know 
all  that  it  was  or  half  that  it  accomplished.  So  it  has 
always  been,  and  so  it  will  ever  be — on  earth. 

The  sermon  ended;  the  communion  service  began. 
None  went  away,  as  ordinarily  some  were  accustomed  to 


29o  RED  AND  BLACK 

do;  it  was  if  a  spell  had  been  cast  upon  the  audience,  it 
remained  so  motionless.  Only  when,  at  the  very  first, 
a  tall  figure  with  a  flaming  red  head  came  forward  at  the 
beckoning  of  Black,  did  other  heads  crane  themselves 
to  see.  The  impossible  had  happened — no  doubt  of  that. 
It  couldn't  be;  but  yes, it  was  Doctor  Burns  who  was  march 
ing  down  the  aisle,  to  stand  facing  Black  beside  the  Table 
on  which  were  set  forth  the  Bread  and  Wine. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
NO  OTHER  WAY 

'\fOU/"  It  was  Jane  Ray's  astonished,  all  but  shud- 
•*•  dering  thought.  "You! — and  not — me!  Oh,  how 
can  it  be?  You,  who  I  thought  would  stay  outside  with 
me — and  the  like  of  me — forever,  before  you  would  bind 
yourself  like  this.  Do  you  believe  the  things  that  he  does? 
You  could  never  be  a  hypocrite  Redfield  Burns.  Are 
you  doing  it  for  love  of  Robert  Black?  No,  you  wouldn't 
do  it,  even  for  that,  any  more  than  I  would.  Then — 
what  is  it?" 

She  sat  with  a  white  face  and  watching  eyes  which 
burned  darkly  beneath  her  close-drawn,  sheltering  hat- 
brim,  while  Red  took  upon  himself  the  vows  which  Black 
administered.  When  it  was  done,  and  Red  stood  straight 
and  tall  again,  and  Black  looked  into  his  eyes  and  took 
his  hand,  and  said  the  few  grave  and  happy  words  of 
welcome  which  end  such  a  service,  Jane's  heart  stood  still 
with  pain  and  love — and  envy.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
she  must  get  away  from  the  place  somehow — anyhow — 
she  could  endure  no  more. 

But  there  was  no  getting  away  yet.  She  had  to  see  it 
through.  And  what  came  next  was  what  Black  had  told 
Mrs.  Hodder  was  to  come.  All  through  the  service,  far 
back  in  her  usual  place,  the  gray-haired  housekeeper  of 
the  manse  had  sat,  still  trembling  a  little  now  and  then, 
waiting  to  hear  the  blow  fall.  She  it  was  who  knew,  she 

291 


292  RED  AND  BLACK 

said  to  herself,  the  dreadful  thing  which  was  coming. 
Nobody  else,  she  thought,  knew  that  the  minister  meant 
to  resign  his  charge.  She  didn't  see  why  he  must  resign 
it,  why  he  shouldn't  come  back.  He  had  been  here  less 
than  a  year  and  a  half;  he  was  in  the  full  tide  of  his  suc 
cess;  the  big  church  was  his  as  long  as  he  should  choose  to 
keep  it.  She  wondered  how  they  would  take  it  when  they 
knew.  As  for  herself,  her  heart  was  very  heavy.  Who 
was  there,  in  all  the  church,  who  would  miss  him  as  she 
would  ? 

He  was  speaking.  She  moved  her  head  and  managed 
to  see  him  through  the  close-ranged  congregation.  He  had 
not  gone  back  to  the  pulpit,  he  still  stood  beside  the  com 
munion  table,  on  the  floor  below,  so  it  was  difficult  to  get 
a  view  of  him.  He  looked  very  manly  and  fine,  she 
thought;  his  face  was  full  of  colour,  as  it  always  was  when 
he  had  been  preaching,  and  his  black  eyes  were  keen  and 
clear  as  he  looked  his  people  in  the  face  and  told  them 
that  he  was  taking  leave  of  them  for  good.  He  used  few 
words,  and  what  he  said  was  very  simple  and  direct.  He 
had  seen  it  his  duty — and  his  great,  great  privilege — to 
go  over  to  France,  and  try  to  do  his  part.  He  had 
preached  what  he  believed  with  all  his  heart,  and  now 
the  time  had  come  to  prove  that  he  believed  what  he  had 
preached.  He  said  good-bye,  and  God  bless  them,  and 
wouldn't  their  prayers  go  with  him  that  he  might  be  of 
all  the  service  to  the  men  of  his  regiment  that  he  could 
know  or  learn  how  to  be  ? 

He  was  withdrawing,  that  they  might  act  upon  his  res 
ignation  according  to  custom,  and  he  had  all  but  reached 
the  narrow  door  beside  the  pulpit  when  an  impressive 
figure,  that  of  Mr.  Samuel  Lockhart,  in  his  well-fitting 
frock  coat  of  formal  wear,  rose  in  his  pew.  He  motioned 


NO  OTHER  WAY  293 

to  Mr.  William  Jennings,  who  sat  near  this  door,  and 
Jennings  took  a  few  steps  after  the  departing  minister 
and  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"Don't  go  just  yet,"  Jennings  warned  him,  in  an  excited 
undertone. 

Black  turned.  Mr.  Lockhart  spoke  his  name,  and  he 
turned  still  farther  and  looked  back  at  his  chief  officer- 
Why  in  the  world  wasn't  he  allowed  to  take  himself  away 
at  this  juncture?  Must  he  be  detained  to  hear  a  conven 
tional  farewell,  a  speech  expressing  hope  that  he  would 
come  through  unscathed,  and  thanks  for  what  he  had  done 
for  the  church  in  the  short  time  that  he  had  been  with 
them?  There  wasn't  much  run-away  blood  in  Black's 
make-up,  but  he  was  certainly  wishing  at  that  instant  that 
they  hadn't  thought  it  necessary  to  hold  him  up,  and  that 
he  had  taken  those  steps  toward  the  door  fast  enough  to 
get  through  it  and  close  it  behind  him  before  he  could  be 
stopped.  And  then  for  the  hillside  and  his  open-air  talk. 
That  was  what  he  wanted  most — and  next!  It  seemed 
to  him  he  couldn't  breathe  any  longer,  here  with  the 
flowers  and  the  people  and  the  organ  music  and  the  stained- 
glass  windows!  It  was  his  church  no  longer.  .  .  . 
Suddenly  he  knew  that  his  heart  was  even  sorer  than  he 
had  thought  it  was. 

But  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  face  it.  So  he  did 
turn  about,  and  came  forward  a  few  steps,  and  stood  wait 
ing.  They  were  all  looking  at  him — all  those  people — 
and  some  of  them — why,  yes,  he  could  see  spots  of  white 
all  over  the  church,  which  grew  momently  thicker.  Could 
it  be  that  so  many  people  as  that  were — crying?  That 
sore  heart  of  his  gave  a  queer  little  jump  in  his  breast. 
Why,  then — they  cared — or  some  of  them  cared — because 
he  wasn't  coming  back! 


294  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Mr.  Black" — Samuel  Lockhart  cleared  his  throat— 
"we  have  something  to  say  to  you  before  you  go.  We 
want  you  to  know  that  we  deeply  appreciate  all  that  you 
have  done  for  this  church  in  the  short  time  you  have  been 
with  us" —  (yes,  Black  had  known  that  was  what  he  would 
say) — "and  that  though  some  of  us  have  not  always  agreed 
with  you  in  your  views  on  certain  points,  we  have  been 
unable  not  to  respect  you.  You  yourself  can  testify  that 
we  have  listened  to  you,  as  we  have  listened  to-day,  with 
close  attention,  always — you  have  compelled  it.  But 
to-day  we  have  listened  with  a  new  respect,  not  to  say  a 
deep  admiration  for  you."  (Black  braced  himself. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  steadily  upon  those  of  his  chief  officer. 
He  told  himself  that  it  would  be  over  sometime,  and  then 
he  could  get  away.)  "And  we  have  listened  with  some 
thing  else — with  a  sense  of  possession  such  as  we  have 
never  had  before." 

Mr.  Lockhart  cleared  his  throat  again.  Evidently 
this  speech  was  tough  on  him,  too.  What  in  the  world  did 
the  man  mean  ?  A  sense  of  possession — of  what  ? 

"You  see,  we  are  not  merely  saying  good-bye  to  you, 
Mr.  Black.  That  of  itself  would  be  enough  to  make  this 
occasion  one  long  to  be  remembered.  In  fact,  we  are  not 
saying  good-bye  at  all,  we  are  saying  'Till  we  meet  again!' 
For — if  you  will  have  it  so — though  you  are  leaving  us  for 
the  time  being,  you  are  going  over  to  do  what  you  consider 
your  part  in  the  war — as  our  representative.  The  Stone 
Church  refuses  your  resignation,  sir.  Instead,  it  grants 
you  a  year's  leave  of  absence  which  it  will  extend  if  you 
ask  it  at  the  end  of  that  period.  And  it  says  to  you:  God 
speed  to  Our  Minister!" 

There  was  a  stir,  a  murmur  throughout  the  big  audience. 
Handkerchiefs  were  held  suspended  in  mid-air  while 


NO  OTHER  WAY  295 

everybody  tried  his  or  her  best  to  see  the  face  of  Robert 
Black.  In  his  pew  Redfield  Pepper  Burns  had  grown 
redder  and  redder,  till  his  face  rivalled  his  hair  in  vividness. 
Behind  her  pillar  Jane  Ray  had  grown  whiter  and  whiter, 
as  she  tried  to  stifle  her  pounding  heart.  At  the  back  of 
the  church  young  Perkins,  usher,  all  but  gave  out  an 
ecstatic  whoop,  and  pinched  the  arm  of  a  neighbouring 
usher  till  it  was  an  inflamed  red,  the  victim  only  grinning 
back  joyfully. 

"You  surely  know,"  said  Robert  Black,  when  he  could 
command  his  voice,  which  it  took  him  a  full  minute  to  do — 
"that  a  man  must  go  with  a  braver  heart  in  him  if  he  goes 
— for  others,  than  if  he  goes  by  him  elf.  I  thank  you — 
and  I  accept  the  commission.  God  help  me  to  be  worthy 
of  your  trust/' 

Of  course  he  couldn't  get  off"  till  he  had  had  his  hand 
wrung  by  several  hundred  people,  during  which  process, 
as  he  had  expected,  Jane  slipped  away.  They  wept  over 
him,  they  smiled  tearfully  at  him,  they  all  but  clung  to 
him,  but  he  could  bear  it  now.  If  he  suspected  that  it 
was  Red  who  had  done  this  thing  for  him  at  the  last — 
the  new  member  already  beginning  to  make  himself  felt 
with  a  vengeance! — it  was  impossible  not  to  see  that  now 
that  it  was  done  everybody  was  immensely  glad  and 
satisfied  over  it.  The  hardest  heads  he  had  ever  encoun 
tered  here  were  among  those  who  were  now  proud  to  have 
him  go  from  the  old  Stone  Church,  the  first  chaplain  in  all 
that  part  of  the  country  to  offer  himself  from  the  ministry. 
Oh,  yes — no  doubt  but  it  was  all  right  now,  and  Black 
would  have  been  a  man  of  iron  if  that  sore  heart  of  his 
had  not  been  somewhat  comforted. 

He  had  dinner  alone  with  Mrs.  Hodder,  refusing  a  score 
of  invitations  that  he  might  give  her  this  happiness.  She 


296  RED  AND  BLACK 

had  been  up,  baking  and  brewing,  since  daybreak,  and 
he  had  divined  that  it  would  be  a  blow  to  her  if  he  brought 
even  one  guest  home.  He  was  glad,  moreover,  of  the  hour's 
interval  in  which  to  draw  breath.  He  did  his  best  to  make 
the  eating  of  the  sumptuous  meal  a  little  festival  for  the 
woman  opposite  him,  but  in  spite  of  his  best  efforts  it 
partook  of  the  character  of  the  parting  bread-breaking. 

"You — you  won't  be  getting  into  danger  so  much,  Mr. 
Black,  will  you,  as  if  you  was  a  regular  soldier?"  Mrs. 
Hodder  suggested  timidly,  as  the  dinner  drew  to  a  finish 
with  not  more  than  half  the  food  she  had  prepared  con 
sumed.  It  was  the  first  time  her  thrifty  nature  had  ever 
thus  let  itself  go,  and  she  had  looked  conscience-stricken 
ever  since  she  realized  the  situation.  But  her  question 
voiced  the  thought  uppermost  in  her  mind.  It  took 
precedence  even  of  her  worry  about  the  terrible  waste 
of  which  she  had  been  guilty! 

"Oh,  you're  not  to  be  anxious  over  any  danger  for  me," 
Black  assured  her,  smiling  across  the  table  at  her.  "Just 
remember  that  some  day  you'll  get  up  another  just  such 
splendid  dinner  as  this  for  me,  and  then  we'll  eat  it  with 
better  appetites.  I  shall  come  back  ravenous  for  home 
cooking,  as  all  soldiers  do." 

"Then — you'll  keep  the  place  open  for  me,  sir?" 

"You'll  keep  it  open  for  me,  Mrs.  Hodder.  It's  you 
who  will  be  in  demand  for  other  positions.  I'll  think  my 
self  lucky  if  you  promise  to  come  back  to  me." 

He  was  glad  to  get  away  now  from  her  tearful  face,  for 
this  assurance  upset  her  completely,  and  she  could  only 
apologize  and  weep  again  into  a  large  handkerchief  already 
damp  from  the  demands  made  upon  it  at  the  morning 
service. 

Red  and  the  big  Macauley  car  were  at  the  door  now 


NO  OTHER  WAY  297 

with  Mrs.  Burns,  Jane  Ray,  and  little  Sue  Dunstan  already 
established  in  it.  They  were  off  and  away  at  once. 
Black  sat  beside  Red,  and  the  two  fell  into  talk  while 
those  behind  silently  watched  them.  They  were  an  inter 
esting  pair  to  watch,  in  conversation. 

"They  are  so  different,  one  would  hardly  have  expected 
them  to  become  such  devoted  friends,"  Mrs.  Burns  said 
to  Jane,  after  a  time. 

"Oh,  do  you  think  they  are  so  different?"  Jane  glanced 
from  the  black  head  to  the  red  one — they  were  not  far 
apart.  Black's  arm  was  stretched  along  the  back  of 
the  seat  behind  Red;  he  was  leaning  close  and  talking 
rapidly  in  Red's  ear.  The  latter  was  listening  intently; 
from  time  to  time  he  nodded  emphatically,  and  now  and 
then  he  interjected  a  vigorous  exclamation  of  assent. 
Evidently,  whatever  the  subject  under  consideration, 
they  were  remarkably  agreed  upon  it — which  had  by  no 
means  always  been  the  case  in  past  discussions.  Perhaps 
they  were  agreeing  to  agree  to-day,  since  it  was  the  last — 
for  so  long. 

"They  seem  to  me  much  alike,"  Jane  went  on,  at  Mrs. 
Burns'  look  of  inquiry.  "Not  in  personality,  of  course, 
but — well — in  force  of  character,  and  in  the  way  they  both 
go  straight  at  a  thing  and  never  let  go  of  it  till  they  have 
accomplished  what  they  set  out  to  do." 

"That's  true;  it  may  be  the  secret  of  the  sympathy 
between  them.  For  a  long  time  I  thought  they  would 
never  get  together,  but  it's  been  coming,  and  now — and 

to-day This  has  been  such  a  wonderful  day,  in  spite 

of  the  sadness  of  it!  You  were  at  morning  service?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Burns." 

"None  of  us  will  ever  forget  it." 

"No." 


298  RED  AND  BLACK 

The  big  car  had  them  up  in  the  hills  in  short  order.  As 
they  came  over  the  last  steep  rise  Red  whistled  sharply 
with  surprise. 

"My  faith!"  he  ejaculated.  "Where  do  they  all  come 
from,  in  this  God-forsaken  region!" 

"God  hasn't  forsaken  it.  That's  a  man-made  phrase. 
But  they  can't  all  come  from  this  locality.  I  should  say 
not — and  they  haven't.  .  .  Why,  there  are  my  boys — 
any  number  of  them.  Well!" 

Black  leaped  out  of  the  car,  which  had  been  instantly 
surrounded.  Here  they  certainly  were,  ranks  upon  ranks 
of  boys  and  young  men,  not  only  from  his  church  but  from 
the  town  outside.  Every  one  of  them  wore  a  tiny  Ameri 
can  flag  on  his  coat-lapel. 

"You  see,"  explained  young  Perkins,  lively  usher  at  the 
Stone  Church,  "we  didn't  see  how  we  could  spare  you  to 
come  off  up  here  this  last  day  unless  we  came  along. 
Please  excuse  us  for  butting  in,  but  we  couldn't  stand  it 
any  other  way." 

"We  mean  it  as  a  sort  of  guard  of  honour,"  declared  a  tall 
boy,  just  out  of  short  trousers,  and  extraordinarily  dis 
putatious  for  his  age,  with  whom  Black  had  held  many  a 
warm  argument  in  past  days.  "Besides,  we " 

Evidently  something  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  which 
had  to  be  suppressed,  for  he  was  hauled  off  by  Perkins 
in  a  hurry  while  others  took  his  place.  The  young  men 
all  seemed  much  excited,  and  Black  had  to  bring  them 
to  order  lest  they  put  the  rest  of  his  audience  in  the 
background.  There  were  plenty  of  men  and  women, 
and  even  children  present,  who  were  obviously  from  the 
hill  region,  and  these  were  they  whom  he  had  come  to 
meet. 

Under  his  direction  Perkins  shortly  proved  that  his 


NO  OTHER  WAY  299 

talents  as  an  usher  could  be  exercised  quite  as  well  in  the 
open  air  as  under  the  stately  roof  of  the  home  church. 
He  soon  had  the  assemblage  massed  on  a  side  hill  which  he 
had  selected  as  a  sort  of  amphitheatre  where  all  could  see 
and  hear  the  man  who  stood  upon  the  flat  and  grassy 
plateau  below.  From  this  point  of  vantage  presently 
Black  spoke  to  them. 

One  of  the  reporters  of  the  morning,  at  the  edge  of  the 
crowd,  sat  taking  notes  in  the  very  shortest  of  shorthand. 
He  needed  all  his  powers  now,  even  more  than  he  had 
needed  them  in  the  morning,  for  Black  spoke  fast  and 
crisply,  as  a  man  speaks  when  he  feels  the  time  is  short 
and  there  is  much  to  say.  As  the  young  reporter  set  down 
his  dots  and  dashes  he  was  subconsciously  exulting  to 
himself:  "Gee,  but  I'm  glad  I  got  in  on  this!  What  a 
bully  story  this'll  make!" 

It  did  make  a  story,  but  it  was  one  which  like  that  of 
the  morning  could  never  be  fully  written.  The  words 
Robert  Black  spoke  now  were  not  words  like  those  of  the 
morning.  He  was  looking  into  faces  whose  aspect  gripped 
his  very  soul;  it  seemed  to  him  that  they  had  all  the  same 
expression — one  of  exceeding  hunger.  Even  his  boys — 
though  he  was  not  talking  now  to  them — were  watching 
him  as  those  watch  who  are  being  fed.  There  is  no  look 
like  that  to  inspire  a  man,  to  draw  out  his  best  and  biggest, 
and  it  drew  Black's  now,  beyond  anything  of  which  he  had 
before  been  capable.  The  day,  the  hour,  the  near  ap 
proach  of  his  departure,  that  "last  chance"  conviction 
which  had  spurred  him  all  day — all  these  facts  and  forces 
combined  to  make  of  this  final,  most  informal  service  he 
was  to  hold  in  his  own  country  for  many  a  day  the  richest 
and  most  worthy  of  them  all.  If  it  were  not  so,  then  those 
— Black's  nearest  friends — who  listened  with  greatest 


300  RED  AND  BLACK 

appreciation  and  best  capacity  for  judgment,  were  might 
ily  deceived. 

Red  stood  with  folded  arms  at  the  very  back  of  the 
audience,  his  hazel  eyes  seldom  leaving  the  figure  of  his 
friend.  What  was  in  his  heart  none  could  have  told.  His 
face  was  set  like  a  ruddy  cameo  as  Ellen  his  wife  looked 
up  at  it  now  and  again.  Beyond  him  Jane  Ray  stood  be 
side  a  great  elm;  she  leaned  a  little  against  it,  as  if  she 
needed  its  support.  It  was  a  tremendous  hour  for  her. 
following,  as  it  did,  all  the  repressed  emotion  of  the  morn 
ing.  Her  face  had  lost  much  of  its  usual  warm  colour,— 
her  fine  lips  tensed  themselves  firmly  against  possible 
tremor.  Could  she  live  through  the  day,  she  asked  her 
self  now  and  then — live  through  it  and  not  cry  out  a  re 
cantation  of  the  old  position  of  unbelief,  not  call  to  Heaven 
to  witness  her  acceptance  of  a  new  one,  passionately  be 
lieving — and  then  run  into  the  arms  she  knew  must  open 
for  her?  But  she  was  dumb.  Even  he  would  not  trust 
a  change  in  her  now,  she  was  sure,  though  his  eloquence 
this  day  had  been  that  to  sway  far  harder  hearts  than  hers. 
No,  she  must  let  him  go — there  was  no  other  way.  She 
had  made  her  bed  and  heaped  it  high  with  distrust  and 
scorn,  and  she  must  lie  on  it.  Even  for  him  she  could  not 
take  up  that  bed  and  walk! 

Black  ceased  speaking.  The  hush  over  the  hillside, 
for  the  full  minute  following,  was  that  of  the  calm  before 
the  storm.  Then — the  storm  came.  Black's  young  men 
— twenty  of  them  from  the  Stone  Church — and  eleven 
from  the  town,  thirty-one  in  all — stirred,  looked  about  at 
one  another,  nodded  one  to  another,  came  forward  to 
gether. 

"Mr.  Black,"  said  young  Perkins,  simply  enough — 
fortunately  he  had  not  tongue  nor  taste  for  oratory — 


NO  OTHER  WAY  301 

"some  of  us  have  decided  not  to  let  you  go  'over  there* 
alone.  Of  course  we  can't  go  with  you,  though  we'd  like 
to  mighty  well.  But  we  can  enlist — and  that's  what 
we're  doing — to-morrow  morning.  We  thought  you'd  like 
to  know." 

Back  up  the  hillside  a  smothered  sound  burst  from 
Red's  throat — a  queer  sound  between  a  groan  and  a  laugh. 
If  Black  had  heard  it,  he  would  have  understood  what  it 
meant,  and  his  heart  would  have  ached  harder  than  ever 
for  his  friend.  His  wife  did  understand,  and  she  slipped 
her  hand  into  his,  where  he  crushed  it  till  it  ached  with 
pain,  and  she  did  not  withdraw  it.  Beside  them  Jane 
Ray  bit  her  lips  until  they  all  but  drew  the  blood.  Was 
there  no  end,  then,  to  the  breaking  tension  of  this  in 
credible  day? 

"I  do  like  to  know,"  said  Robert  Black,  his  eyes  fiery 
with  joy  and  sorrow  and  all  the  things  a  man  may  feel 
when  a  group  of  young  patriots  offer  their  all,  unknowing 
half  what  it  means,  but  understanding  enough  to  make  the 
act  enormously  significant  of  forming  character,  "and 
I'm  proud  and  happy  beyond  words." 

A  hulking  young  giant  from  the  hills  stumbled  for 
ward,  and  spoke  diffidently  from  the  edge  of  the^  group: 

"I  guess  I'll  be  goin'  too,"  he  said. 

Perkins  whirled.  "Bully  for  you!"  he  shouted,  and 
made  a  flying  wedge  of  himself  through  the  other  fellows, 
to  shake  the  giant's  brawny  hand. 

There  came  a  second  hill  boy,  young«r  and  fli^hter  than 
the  first.  "He's  my  pardner,"  he  said,  ^rith  an  awkward 
gesture  toward  the  other.  "I  guess  if  he  goes,  that'll 
mean  me  too." 

There  were  four  of  these.  Fathers  and  mothers  rose 
in  protest.  The  first  lad  turned  and  faced  them. 


302  RED  AND  BLACK 

"Looky  here!"  he  called  defiantly.  "We  ain't  goin' 
to  let  them  city  fellers  do  our  fightin',  are  we?  Not  on 
your  life!" 

That  settled  it.  They  were  not  going  to  let  anything 
like  that  happen — not  on  those  unhappy  lives  of  theirs. 

It  was  over.  The  car  got  away  from  the  last  clinging 
young  hand  that  would  have  detained  it,  and  in  the  long 
shadows  of  the  late  afternoon  swung  down  the  hills  to  the 
plain  below,  and  the  big  town,  and  the  last  hours  of  the 
day.  When  at  length  it  halted  in  Jane's  narrow  street 
beside  her  door,  above  which  her  little  sign  no  longer  hung, 
Black,  getting  out  with  her  and  Sue,  said  a  word  in  Red's 
ear.  The  other  shook  his  head. 

"We'll  wait,"  he  insisted.  "You've  mighty  little  time 
to  spare  now,  if  you  have  a  bit  of  a  snack  with  us  before 
your  train  goes.  And  I  vow  we  won't  let  you  off  from 
that." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  let  off.  Give  me  five  minutes  here, 
and  I'll  be  with  you." 

"We  will  come  back  for  you  at  train  time,  Miss  Ray," 
said  Mrs.  Burns. 

"You  don't  think  best  to  ask  her  to  supper  with  us?" 
questioned  Red,  as  the  others  disappeared  into  the  now 
empty  shop. 

"I  asked  her  and  she  refused.     I  knew  she  would." 

"Don't  wonder.     These  blamed  last  stunts " 

Red  lapsed  into  a  dark  silence,  his  chin  sunk  upon  his 
broad  chest. 

Within  the  shop  Black  turned  to  Sue.  "Go  out  in  the 
garden,  and  wait,  will  you,  Sue?"  he  asked,  with  the  smile 
which  the  child  would  have  obeyed  no  matter  what  request 
had  gone  with  it.  Reluctantly  she  closed  the  shop  door 
behind  her.  Tp  the  dismantled,  empty  place,  where  he 


NO  OTHER  WAY  303 

had  first  met  Jane  nearly  eighteen  months  before,  Black 
said  what  he  had  come  in  to  say. 

"  I  shall  write — and  you  will  answer.  We  can't  do  with 
out  that,  can  we?  And  there's  no  reason  why  we  should. 
Is  that  understood?" 

"If  you  wish  it." 

"Don't  you  wish  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Thank  you  for  standing  by  me  this  day.  I  know  it's 
been  hard  for  you.  I  couldn't  help  that — I  had  to  have 
you.  You're  not  sorry — you  stayed  by  ? " 

"No." 

"Jane — there  are  a  thousand  things  I  want  to  say  to 
you,  but  they've  all  got  to  go  unsaid — except  one.  Where- 
ever  I  am — wherever  you  are — it  will  be  the  same  with 
me.  There'll  be  no  one  else — there  never  can  be,  now. 
I  wanted  you  to  know — if  you  didn't  know  already." 

"Yes." 

"Haven't  you  a  word  to  say  to  me — Jane?" 

She  shook  her  head,  trying  to  smile.  "What  is  there 
to  say?  Except — good-bye." 

"I  wish  I  could  put  words  into  your  lips,"  cried  Robert 
Black,  under  his  breath.  "I  want  to  hear  you  say  them 
so.  At  least — Jane — I  can't  go  without — once  more " 

She  was  silent.  It  was  somehow  as  if  her  will  were  in 
shackles,  and  held  her  so  she  could  neither  move  nor 
speak.  When  they  had  been  together  at  the  seashore  it 
had  been  she  who  had  said  the  more,  she  who  had  forced 
the  issue.  Now — she  was  like  a  dumb  thing,  suffering 
without  power  to  free  herself.  It  seemed  to  her  that  her 
heart  must  break  if  he  did  not  take  her  in  his  arms,  and 
yet  she  could  not  show  him  that  heart.  The  whole  day 
had  seemed  to  build  a  barrier  mountains  high  between 


304  RED  AND  BLACK 

them,  which  she  could  do  nothing  to  lower.  Her  hands, 
pressed  close  to  her  sides  as  she  stood  before  him,  made 
themselves  into  fists,  the  nails  pressing  into  the  firm  pink 
palms  until  they  all  but  cut  the  flesh. 

Suddenly  he  reached  down  and  seized  the  hands  in  his, 
then  looked  at  them  in  amazement,  as  he  drew  them  up 
to  view,  because  they  did  not  relax. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  asked  her  quickly.  "Are 
you — as  unhappy — as  that?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  then,  and  let  him  see — what  he  could 
not  help  seeing.  It  was  as  far  beyond  what  she  had  let 
him  see  on  that  other  day  as  this  day  in  their  lives  was 
greater  than  that. 

"Oh,  Jane! — Oh,  my  dear!"  He  could  only  whisper 
the  words.  "And  I  have — to  leave  you!" 

"Yes.     Good-bye —    "  she  said  again,  steadily. 

He  let  go  one  of  her  hands,  and  with  his  strong  fingers 
made  her  loosen  one  gripped  fist.  Then — the  other. 

"I  can't  bear  to  see  them  like  that,"  he  said,  with  a 

queer,  tortured  smile.  "I  want "  And  he  lifted  first 

one  palm  and  then  the  other  to  his  lips,  and  then  gently 
closed  the  fingers  again.  "Don't  hold  them  so  tight  again 
— please!"  he  said.  "I  don't  want  to  have  to  remember 
them — that  way.  Jane — I  don't  know  how  to  go!" 

"You  must.  Doctor  Burns  is  waiting  for  you.  Don't 
mind  about  me." 

"Don't  mind  about  you!"  It  was  a  cry  of  pain. 
"Why — you're  all  I  do  mind  about — now.  I've  done  all 
the  things  I  had  to  do  to-day — they're  all  done — every 
thing's  done — but  this.  And  this — why,  this — is  so  much 
the  hardest  thing  of  all ' 

How  could  he  speak  at  all,  she  wondered,  when  she 
could  not?  She  did  not  realize  that  expression  of  one 


NO  OTHER  WAY  305 

sort  or  another  was  the  breath  of  his  life  to-day.  That 
having  poured  himself  out,  all  day,  to  others,  he  could 
not  cease  from  giving;  that  though  to-morrow  might  bring 
upon  him  a  silence  and  an  immobility  as  great  as  her  own, 
for  to-day  his  lips  must  have  speech;  his  spirit,  action. 

"Jane — you  won't  deny  me — I  can't  go  without  it. 
God  knows  our  hearts — knows " 

He  left  his  own  heart  on  her  lips  then,  in  one  bitter 
sweet  moment  of  such  spending  as  he  had  never  known — 
or  she — and  went  away,  leaving  her  alone  there  in  the 
deserted  shop  with  the  memory  of  his  whispered,  "God 
bless  you — my  Jane!"  She  ran  to  the  window,  screening 
herself  from  view  as  best  she  could,  and  saw  him  get  into 
the  car,  and  saw  the  car  leap  away  down  the  narrow  street. 

An  hour  later  she  was  at  the  station.  Black  had  not 
been  in  the  car  when  it  had  come  for  her;  it  was  full  of 
other  people — the  Macauleys  and  the  Chesters,  Red's 
neighbours  and  among  Black's  best  friends.  Mrs.  Burns 
explained  that  the  minister's  new  guard,  the  boys  who  were 
to  enlist  to-morrow,  had  come  for  him  in  a  body,  and  had 
borne  him  away  in  the  biggest  car  they  had  been  able 
to  find. 

At  the  station  there  was  the  expected  crowd,  only  it 
was  a  larger  crowd  than  any  of  them  could  have  antici 
pated.  It  was  evening  now,  and  almost  dark,  and  it  was 
beginning  to  rain.  The  station  lights  shone  on  banks  of 
lifted  umbrella  tops;  the  little  flags  in  the  young  men's 
coats  grew  wet.  People  went  about  saying  what  a  pity 
it  was  that  it  had  to  rain.  And  if  it  hadn't  been  Sunday 
night  there  would  have  been  a  band.  Jane  found  herself 
very  thankful  that  there  was  no  band.  And  then,  sud 
denly,  there  was  a  band — a  small  one,  playing  "Onward, 
Christian  Soldiers,"  and  the  crowd  was  singing  with  it. 


3o6  RED  AND  BLACK 

Jane  wondered,   through   her  dumb   pain,   how  Robert 
Black  was  bearing  that! 

Red  was  out  of  the  car  and  off  in  the  crowd — no  doubt 
but  he  was  with  Black.  He  had  been  heard  to  express  the 
hope  that  the  blamed  train  would  be  on  time  and  cut  the 
agony  short,  but  of  course  it  wasn't.  It  was  only  ten 
minutes  late,  however,  though  to  Jane  those  ten  minutes, 
marked  by  the  clock  on  the  car's  dash,  were  the  longest 
she  had  ever  known.  Then — there  was  the  shrill  whistle 
in  the  distance  she  had  been  waiting  for,  coming  at  an 
interval  in  the  music,  and  she  heard  it  plainly,  and  her 
heart  stopped  beating. 

Black  and  Red  were  at  the  door  of  the  car — they  had 
had  to  push  their  way  through  the  people.  Black  was 
shaking  hands  with  Mrs.  Burns — with  Mrs.  Macauley — 
with  everybody.  Then  Jane  felt  her  hand  in  his,  and  lifted 
her  eyes  to  meet  his.  The  headlight  from  another  car 
shone  full  in  his  face;  she  saw  it  as  if  it  looked  at  her  from 
very  far  away.  But  his  eyes — yes,  she  could  see  his  eyes 
— and  see  how  they  were  piercing  hers,  as  if  he  would  look 
through  to  her  very  soul  for  that  last  time — oh,  she  was 
sure  it  was  for  the  last  time! 

He  did  not  say  a  word  to  her — not  a  word.  But  his 
hand,  for  that  instant,  spoke  for  him.  Then  he  had  gone 
away  again,  through  the  crowd,  for  the  train  was  in,  and 
the  locals  made  but  short  stops.  A  shout  went  up — 
Black's  young  men  waved  their  arms,  their  flags — their 
unbrellas — everything  they  had. 

He  stood  on  the  back  platform,  as  he  so  often  had  stood 
before,  when  the  train  pulled  out.  He  looked  back  at 
them,  the  crowds,  the  flags,  the  umbrella  tops — but  he  saw 
only  one  thing — the  thin,  gleaming  rails,  stretching  away, 
farther  and  farther  into  the  distance — and  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING 

THE  morning  papers!  How  many  did  Red  have  of 
them  ? 

Robert  Black  had  been  away  for  almost  a  year.  Jane 
Ray's  little  shop  had  been  so  long  closed  that  few  now 
turned  down  the  narrow  street,  forgetting  that  the  sign 
no  longer  told  where  the  rarest  and  most  valuable  things 
in  town  surely  could  be  found.  People  had  ceased  to  ask 
who  was  the  tall  young  man  with  the  interesting  face  who 
was  said  to  write  the  most  brilliant  articles  to  be  found  in 
certain  columns  of  one  of  the  great  dailies.  Tom  Lockhart 
was  gone,  and  Harry  Perkins,  and  many  another  figure 
from  the  suburban  streets.  Only  an  occasional  youth 
could  be  seen  now  and  then  upon  a  delivery  wagon. 
Girls  were  everywhere,  taking  the  places  of  the  young 
men  who  had  gone.  Everything  was  changed — every 
thing;  now  that  war  had  come  so  near  that  it  could  be 
felt. 

Those  morning  papers!  Red  bought  and  bought,  not 
satisfied  with  the  morning  and  evening  editions  delivered 
at  his  door.  He  came  home  with  bundles  of  them  under 
his  arm,  and  scanned  them  hurriedly,  his  face  darkening 
as  he  read.  For  the  news  was  heavy  news,  of  losses  and 
reversals,  of  a  gathering  tide  which  could  not  be  stemmed, 
of  worn  and  wasted  French  and  British  regiments  falling 
slowly  but  surely  back  because  it  was  not  possible  to  hold 

307 


308  RED  AND  BLACK 

another  hour  against  the  tremendous  odds  of  reinforced 
enemy  lines. 

"When  will  we  get  in?  Great  God,  those  fellows  can't 
hold  out  forever!"  Red  would  shout,  dashing  the  latest 
paper  to  the  floor  where  its  black  and  ominous  headlines 
seemed  to  stare  back  at  him  with  the  inescapable  truth 
in  each  sinister  word.  "We'll  get  into  it  too  late — they 
can't  stand  such  awful  pressure.  Oh,  if  we'd  been  ready! 
— instead  of  sleeping  on  our  arms.  Arms — we  hadn't 
any — though  they  kept  telling  us — the  men  who  knew. 
We  thought  we  were  fine  and  fit — we — fat  and  heavy  with 
easy  lives.  Yes,  we're  awake  now  but  we've  a  long 
way  yet  to  run  to  get  to  the  fire,  and  meanwhile,  the 
world  is  burning  up!" 

So  he  would  rage,  up  and  down  the  long  living-room 
in  his  own  home,  unable  to  find  a  ray  of  light  in  the  whole 
dark  situation.  Even  more  poignant  than  these  were  his 
anxieties  of  a  personal  sort.  Where — when  he  stopped 
to  think  about  it — was  Robert  Black,  that  he  hadn't  been 
heard  from  now  for  many  weeks?  Black  had  gone  across 
with  one  of  the  first  divisions,  one  made  up  of  men  many 
of  whom  had  had  former  army  training,  men  fit  to  fight 
at  once,  who  had  gone  away  believing  that  they  would  soon 
see  active  service.  By  great  good  fortune — or  so  Black 
had  esteemed  it — he  had  been  sent  for  at  the  last  minute 
to  take  the  place  of  an  old  regimental  chaplain  who  had 
fallen  seriously  ill.  The  substitute's  early  and  persistent 
applications  for  a  post  had  commended  him  as  one  who 
meant  to  go  anyhow,  and  so  might  as  well  be  given  the 
opportunity  first  as  last.  That  was  the  sort  they  had 
wanted,  for  that  was  the  sort  they  were  themselves. 

"Why,  Bob's  last  letter's  dated  a  good  two  months 
back,"  Red  announced,  one  June  morning  of  that  second 


AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING        309 

summer,  scanning  the  well-worn  sheets.  How  many 
times  had  he  read  that  letter,  his  wife  wondered  as  she 
saw  him  consulting  its  pages  again.  Black  wrote  remark 
ably  interesting  letters.  In  spite  of  censorship  he  somehow 
managed  to  get  in  all  sorts  of  vivid  paragraphs  in  which  not 
the  sharpest  eye  could  detect  forbidden  information — 
there  was  none  there.  But  there  was  not  lacking  keen 
character  drawing,  graphic  picturing  of  effect  of  sun  and 
shadow,  stimulating  reactions,  amusing  anecdote.  Red 
had  never  enjoyed  any  correspondence  in  his  life  as  he 

had  that  with  the  chaplain  of  the  th  regiment, 

th  division.  And  this  was  for  many  reasons,  chief 

of  which  was  the  great  and  ever-growing  bond  of  friend 
ship  between  the  two  men,  which  separation  just  after 
it  had  been  made  forever  secure  had  only  served  incredibly 
to  strengthen  and  augment. 

"I  don't  understand  it.  I  don't  like  it.  I  wish  I  could 
hear,"  Red  complained,  replacing  the  thin  sheets  in  the 
now  tattered  flimsy  envelope  with  the  foreign  postmarks 
and  the  official  stamps  of  various  sorts  which  proclaimed 
it  a  military  missive.  "He  was  writing  fairly  regularly 
up  to  that  date,  but  then  he  stopped  short  off,  as  if  he 
had  been  shot.  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that — queer  how 
that  old  common  phrase  needs  to  be  avoided  now.  It's 
none  too  improbable,  either,  in  his  case,  if  he  ever  gets 
near  the  Front.  He'll  be  no  rear-guard  sort  of  chaplain — 
that's  easy  enough  to  know." 

He  went  off  about  his  work,  on  this  particular  morning, 
with  a  heavier  heart  than  usual.  He  hadn't  counted  up 
before,  just  how  many  weeks  it  was  since  he  had  heard 
from  Black;  he  only  knew  that  he  had  been  scanning  the 
mails  with  a  disappointed  eye  for  a  good  while  novr. 
Where  could  Black  be — what  had  happened  to  prevent 


3io  RED  AND  BLACK 

his  writing  as  before?  Hang  it! — Red  wished  he  could 
hear  this  very  day.  His  mental  vision  called  up  clearly  the 
man's  handwriting  on  the  foreign  envelope;  he  always 
liked  the  look  of  it  so  well.  It  was  rather  a  small  script, 
but  very  clear,  black,  and  full  of  character;  the  t's  were 
invariably  crossed  with  vigour,  and  there  were  only  straight 
forward  marks,  no  curlycues.  He  wished  he  could  see 
that  handwriting  within  the  hour,  wished  it  with  a  queer 
certainty  that  he  should  most  certainly  not  see  it,  either 
to-day  or  to-morrow.  Black  was  somewhere  off  the  line 
of  communication,  he  grew  surer  and  surer  of  it. 

As  the  day  advanced  Red  found  his  presentiment  that 
his  friend  was  close  to  danger  amounting  to  a  conviction. 
Red  was  not  an  imaginative  person,  and  ordinarily  he  was 
a  persistent  optimist;  to-day  it  seemed  to  be  impossible 
to  summon  a  particle  of  optimism  concerning  either  the 
duration  of  the  war  or  the  personal  safety  of  the  man  he 
cared  for  so  deeply.  He  did  care  for  him  deeply — he  no 
longer  evaded  or  made  light  of  his  affection  for  Robert 
Black.  What  was  the  use?  It  was  a  fact  accomplished; 
nothing  that  happened  or  didn't  happen  could  now  change 
it;  everything  seemed  to  intensify  it. 

Close  to  eleven  o'clock  of  the  evening  of  this  day  Red 
was  returning  from  a  call  which  had  taken  him  out  just 
as  he  was  beginning  to  think  longingly  of  rest  and  sleep. 
Passing  a  news-stand  he  had  bought  the  latest  evening 
edition  of  the  latest  city  daily  sent  out  to  the  suburbs, 
and  had  found  in  it  only  a  deepening  presage  of  coming 
disaster  to  the  armies  of  the  Allies.  This  paper  was  stick 
ing  out  of  his  pocket  as  he  walked  wearily  along  the  de 
serted  streets  of  the  residence  district,  through  a  night 
air  still  and  heavy  with  the  lingering  heat  of  the  day.  He 
took  off  his  hat  and  mopped  his  forehead.  Was  it  hot  and 


AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING        311 

still  and  heavy  with  languor  and  dread  over  there  at  this 
hour,  too,  he  wondered,  up  on  that  bending  Western  front? 
Or  were  the  shells  bursting  and  the  sky  red  and  yellow  with 
the  flares  of  the  guns,  and  black  with  smoke  and  death  ? 
Allowing  for  the  difference  in  time  it  was  almost  four  in  the 
morning  over  there.  Wasn't  it  about  this  hour  that  things 
were  apt  to  happen,  over  there,  after  a  night  of  waiting? 
Wasn't  this  often  the  "Zero"  hour — "over  there"? 

To  reach  his  own  home  he  would  naturally  go  by  the 
manse,  unless  he  went  a  little  out  of  his  way.  It  must  be 
confessed  that  Red  had  acquired  the  habit,  since  Black 
left  town,  of  going  that  little  out  of  his  way,  when  coming 
home  at  night  from  this  part  of  town,  to  avoid  passing  the 
Stone  Church  and  the  deserted  manse  close  by  in  its  large 
shadow.  He  didn't  know  quite  why  he  should  have 
yielded,  at  first  unconsciously,  afterward  with  full  recogni 
tion  of  his  feeling  about  it,  to  the  wish  not  to  see  the  drawn 
shades  and  darkened  windows  of  his  friend's  former  habi 
tation.  But  on  this  evening,  somehow,  almost  without 
his  own  consent  he  found  himself  turning  at  that  corner 
to  go  by  the  house. 

Dark?  Yes,  it  was  dark — almost  darker  than  usual,  it 
seemed;  though  this  was  undoubtedly  because  the  near 
est  arc-light  was  burning  more  feebly  than  ordinarily  to 
night.  Anyhow,  the  place  was  enveloped  in  gloom.  It 
presented  a  very  different  aspect  from  that  which  had  be 
longed  to  it  during  the  term  of  Black's  residence.  His 
study  had  been  one  of  the  big  square  rooms  upon  the 
front,  its  windows  always  lighted  in  the  evening,  the 
shades  drawn  only  low  enough  to  insure  privacy,  not  to 
prevent  the  warm  glow  of  the  study  light  from  telling  its 
friendly  tale  of  the  occupant  within,  at  home  to  all  comers 
at  all  hours,  as  he  had  been  at  pains  to  make  understood. 


3i2  RED  AND  BLACK 

Red  didn't  like  to  look  at  those  dark  windows.  Many 
and  many  a  time  during  the  last  months  before  Black's 
departure,  after  the  friendship  between  the  two  men  had 
become  a  known  quantity  no  longer  negligible,  the  big 
doctor  had  turned  aside  from  the  straight  road  home  to 
make  a  late  call  in  that  study,  the  light  beckoning  him 
more  and  more  irresistibly.  Weary,  or  blue,  or  fuming 
over  some  unlucky  or  harassing  happening  in  his  work, 
he  had  gone  stumbling  or  storming  in,  always  to  find  a 
hearty  welcome,  and  such  quiet  understanding  and  com 
radeship  as  soon  eased  the  situation,  whether  he  knew  it 
then  or  only  afterward.  Many  a  pipe  had  he  smoked 
while  sitting  in  Black's  old  red-cushioned  rocker — to 
which  he  had  taken  an  odd  fancy — and  many  a  story  had 
he  told,  or  listened  to.  ...  There  could  be  no  pipe- 
smoking  there  to-night,  nor  telling  of  stories.  The  fire 
upon  that  hearthstone  was  cold.  God  only  knew  when  it 
would  be  lighted  again,  or  whose  hand  would  light  it. 

Red  turned  in  at  the  walk  which  led  to  the  manse  door. 
He  did  not  want  to  turn  in,  yet  he  could  not  go  by.  The 
lawn  before  the  house  was  shaven;  it  had  to  be  kept  up 
because  there  was  no  dividing  line  between  it  and  the  close- 
cut  green  turf  which  surrounded  the  Stone  Church.  Be 
tween  the  vestry  door  and  side  door  of  the  manse  ran  a 
short  walk,  so  that  the  minister  had  only  a  few  steps  to 
take  when  he  crossed  the  narrow  space.  Somehow  Red 
could  almost  see  the  tall,  well-built  figure  striding  across 
that  space,  the  strong  face  full  of  spirit.  .  .  . 

He  took  a  turn  about  the  house,  completely  circling 
it,  telling  himself  that  now  he  was  here  he  might  as  well 
see  that  all  was  as  it  should  be  from  front  to  rear.  Re 
turning  to  the  front,  he  heard  a  distant  clock  in  the  centre 
of  the  town  booming  out  the  slow  strokes  of  the  hour — 


AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING        313 

eleven.  Four  o'clock  it  was  then  on  that  Western  front, 
three  thousand  miles  away.  Was  Black  there — or  any 
where  near  there?  Wherever  he  was  it  might  be  that — 
well — was  there  any  reason  why  Red  shouldn't  be  able 
to  get  him  out  of  his  mind  ?  And  was  there  any  reason 
why  Red  shouldn't  do  what  he  was  now  suddenly  im 
pelled  to  do?  According  to  Black's  own  code  there  was 
every  reason  why  he  should  do  it — and  none  conceivable 
against  it.  Sentimental  superstition? — or  great  spiritual 
forces  at  work  of  which  he  could  know  nothing,  except 
to  feel  their  power? 

He  went  over  to  the  vestry  door — a  narrow  door  of 
classic  outline  and  black  oak  austerity,  appearing  in  the 
deep  shadow  like  the  entrance  to  the  unknown.  He  leaned 
his  uplifted  arm  against  it,  and  rested  his  bared  head 
against  his  arm.  Somehow  he  felt  nearer  to  his  absent 
friend  in  this  spot  than  he  had  ever  felt  before. 

"O  God,"  he  implored,  under  his  breath,  "wherever  he 
is — take  care  of  him.  He's  worth  a  lot  of  taking  care 
of — and  he  won't  do  it  himself — somehow  I  know  that. 
Just  do  it  for  him — will  You?" 


On  this  same  night,  at  a  Field  Hospital,  ten  miles  back 
from  the  firing  line  on  a  certain  sector  of  the  French  Front, 
Jane  Ray  went  about  her  duties.  It  was  a  comparatively 
quiet  night;  no  fresh  casualties  had  come  in  for  several 
hours,  and  none  was  expected  before  morning. 

Beginning  as  nurses'  helper  Jane  had  worked  and  studied 
at  all  hours,  had  faced  several  examinations,  and  was  now, 
by  virtue  of  the  pressing  demand  and  the  changed  re 
quirements  which  in  war  time  hasten  such  matters,  an 
accredited  nurse  with  a  diploma.  She  had  thought  many 
times  gratefully  of  a  certain  red-headed  surgeon  back  in 


3i4  RED  AND  BLACK 

the  States,  who  had  put  her  through  many  grilling  tests 
of  his  own  since  he  had  learned  what  she  had  in  view. 
Not  once  but  often  she  had  watched  him  operate;  hours 
on  end  had  she  listened  to  informal  lectures  from  his  lips, 
delivered  at  the  back  of  her  shop  when  custom  was  slack. 
It  had  all  helped  immensely  in  her  work  of  preparation, 
and  in  her  dogged  purpose  to  make  herself  fit  for  service 
in  the  least  possible  time.  And  now  she  was  at  the  very 
goal  of  her  desires,  having  for  the  last  month  been  serving 
as  near  the  active  Front  as  a  nurse  may  get,  the  Field 
Hospital  to  which  the  wounded  are  sent  from  the  First- 
Aid  Station. 

It  had  become  to  her  an  almost  passionate  joy  to  give 
these  poor  fellows  their  first  sense  of  real  comfort.  Though 
the  resources  at  hand  were  often  far  less  than  adequate 
to  the  demand,  when  cases  poured  in  till  the  hurriedly 
arranged  accommodations  were  full  to  overflowing  and  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  supplying  every  need,  this  was  the 
time  when  Jane  most  exulted  in  her  work.  Physically 
strong,  though  she  was  often  weary  to  exhaustion,  a  few 
hours  of  sleep  would  put  her  on  her  feet  again,  and  she 
would  go  back  to  her  task  with  a  sense  of  being  at  last 
where  she  was  born  to  be.  She  managed  somehow  to 
give  to  her  patients  the  impression  that  no  matter  how 
busy  or  hurried  she  might  be  she  had  something  to  spare 
for  each  one  of  them,  and  this  perhaps  was  one  of  the 
greatest  services  she  rendered.  Skilful  though  her  hands 
and  brain  had  become  at  ministering  to  the  wants  of  the 
wounded  bodies,  her  heart  had  grown  still  wiser  in  its 
knowledge  of  the  larger  needs  of  the  tried  spirits  of  those 
vrho  lay  before  her.  Tender  yet  bracing  was  the  atmos 
phere  which  she  carried  everywhere  with  her.  It  is  the 
aura  which  to  a  greater  or  less  degree  surrounds  every 


AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING         315 

true  nurse,  and  Jane,  in  acquiring  it,  had  but  learned  the 
rudiments  of  her  profession.  Yet  perhaps  she  had  rather 
more  than  the  ordinary  capacity  for  divination  of  the 
peculiar  and  individual  necessities  of  the  men  under  her 
care,  for  certain  it  was  that  most  of  them  preferred  her 
to  any  of  the  others,  accomplished  and  devoted  though 
they  all  were.  It  is  quite  possible  that  the  fact  that  she 
was,  as  the  boys  put  it  among  themselves,  so  "easy  to 
look  at,"  may  have  accounted  for  a  portion  of  her  popu 
larity,  but  surely  not  for  all. 

They  did  not  stay  long  with  her;  it  was  a  matter  of  but 
a  few  days  in  most  cases,  before  they  were  moved  back 
to  the  Evacuation  Hospital,  many  miles  in  the  rear.  She 
had  not  time  to  get  to  know  any  of  them  well;  yet  some 
how  in  even  that  brief  interval  of  experience  she  and  they 
usually  arrived  at  a  feeling  of  acquaintance  which  often 
became  a  memory  not  to  be  forgotten. 

On  this  June  night  Jane  found  herself  returning  more 
than  once  to  a  certain  patient  who  had  been  brought  in 
early  in  the  evening  suffering  from  rather  severe  injuries. 
The  surgeons  had  decided  against  immediate  operation; 
he  Was  to  be  retained  here  only  long  enough  to  recover 
from  shock,  and  to  be  got  into  shape  for  the  journey  back 
to  the  Base.  He  was  only  a  boy,  or  looked  so,  in  spite  of 
the  lines  which  pain  had  brought  into  his  face.  He  was 
not  able  to  sleep,  and  for  certain  definite  reasons  he  had 
been  given  nothing  to  make  him  sleep.  Each  time  Jane 
came  by  she  found  him  lying  with  eyes  wide  open;  restless 
of  body  his  injuries  did  not  permit  him  to  be,  for  he  was 
strapped  and  bandaged  into  a  well-nigh  immovable  posi 
tion.  Clearly  his  mind  was  doing  double  duty,  and  being 
restless  for  both. 

As  she  stopped  beside  his  cot  again,  he  looked  up  at  her 


3i6  RED  AND  BLACK 

and  spoke,  for  the  first  time.  His  eyes  had  followed  her 
all  night,  whenever  she  came  in  range,  but  she  was  used 
to  that.  Eyes  wakeful  at  night  always  follow  a  nurse; 
she  is  a  grateful  vision  to  men  long  removed  from  the  sight 
of  women;  the  very  lines  of  the  uniform  are  restful  to 
look  at.  The  face  beneath  the  veil-like  head-dress  need 
not  be  a  beautiful  one  to  be  attractive;  it  needs  only  to  be 
friendly  and  compassionate;  if  it  can  show  a  capacity 
for  humour,  so  much  the  better.  In  Jane's  case,  actual 
loveliness  of  feature  drew  the  gaze  of  those  tired  young 
eyes,  many  of  which  had  seen  only  ugliness  and  horror 
for  a  long,  long  time.  The  casualty  cases  thus  far  had 
been  confined  almost  entirely  to  the  French  and  British, 
with  an  occasional  American  enlisted  in  a  foreign  division. 
It  was  only  within  the  last  few  days  that  the  men  from 
Jane's  own  country  had  begun  to  come  under  her  care, 
showing  that  at  last,  as  they  had  so  longed  to  be,  they 
were  "in." 

This  boy,  beside  whom  Jane  paused  in  her  rounds,  and 
who  now  spoke  to  her,  had  had  from  the  first  something 
familiar  about  him.  But  she  had  not  been  able  to  place 
him  in  her  remembrance  and  had  decided  that  it  was  only 
the  type  she  recognized,  not  the  individual.  Now,  how 
ever,  as  she  bent  to  catch  the  low-spoken  words,  she  real 
ized  what  had  happened;  here  was  a  boy  from  home! 

"You  don't  know  me,  do  you?"  he  said,  with  dif 
ficulty. 

"I  almost  thought  I  did,  but  wasn't  sure.  Do  you  come 
from  my  town  and  ought  I  to  know  you?  You  see — you 
must  have  changed  quite  a  bit." 

She  was  looking  intently  into  his  face,  and  her  reassur 
ing  smile  answered  his  wistful  one. 

"No,  I  didn't  expect  you  to  know  me,  but  I — kind  of 


AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING        317 

hoped — you  would.  I  know  you.  You  was  there  when 
I  said  I'd  enlist — up  on  the  hill." 

Her  thoughts  leaped  back  to  that  last  Sunday  of  Robert 
Black's  departure  and  to  the  service  on  the  hillside.  Her 
face  lighted  with  recognition,  and  the  boy  saw  it. 

"Oh,  yes — I  do  remember — of  course  I  do.  I  sewed  a 
star  on  a  service  flag  for  you  and  the  other  three  who  went 
from  the  hill,  and  took  it  up  to  the  schoolhouse  before  I 
went  away.  I  think  I  know  your  name."  She  racked  her 
memory  hastily  for  it  and  found  it,  and  the  boy's  eyes  were 
suffused  with  joy  as  she  spoke  it.  "Aren't  you — Enos 
Dyer?" 

"Yes,  I'm  Enie  Dyer,  only  I  don't  like  to  be  called 
that  over  here  'cause  it  sounds  like  'Heinie/  Say," — he 
scanned  her  face  anxiously, — "know  anything  'bout  where 
the  preacher  is  now?" 

"Mr.  Black?  Nothing  at  all.  It  is  weeks  since  I 
had  any  news  of  him.  His  division  has  been  sent  up 
toward  the  Front,  and  they  may  be  in  things  by  now;  we 
get  only  rumours  here  about  what  is  happening  on  the 
other  sectors." 

"I  wish  I  knew,"  he  said  anxiously.  "I  get  to  thinkin' 
'bout  him  a  lot.  He  didn't  know  me  any,  but  I  knew  him 
all  right.  After  that  time  he  buried  the  Dunstan  girl 
I  used  to  come  down  to  his  church.  I  liked  to  hear  him 
talk.  But  I  always  skun  out  the  minute  things  was  over, 
so  he  never  really  did  lay  eyes  on  me  till  that  last  day. 
I  don't  s'pose  he'd  remember  me." 

Jane  would  have  liked  to  let  him  say  more,  to  have 
questioned  him  closely,  herself  eager  to  hear  the  least 
mention  of  the  name  which  was  always  in  the  background 
of  her  thoughts.  But  she  knew  that  he  must  not  be  al 
lowed  to  use  his  feeble  powers  in  this  way.  So  after  as- 


318  RED  AND  BLACK 

suring  him  that  Black  was  not  the  man  to  forget  the  four 
boys  from  the  hill  who  had  enlisted  on  that  memorable 
day,  she  went  on  upon  her  rounds,  her  own  mind  filled  with 
the  vivid  recollections  young  Dyer's  words  had  called  up. 

But  she  could  not  come  near  him  on  this  night  without 
his  eyes  imploring  her  to  give  him  another  word.  So 
she  learned  that  he  was  most  unhappy  lest  the  injuries 
he  had  received  prevent  his  return  to  the  Front,  and  was 
worrying  badly  about  it.  She  became  presently  so  in 
terested  in  his  state  of  mind  that  she  called  the  atten 
tion  of  one  of  the  surgeons  to  him.  Doctor  Mills  read 
the  record  upon  his  cot-tag,  looked  at  Dyer  keenly  through 
his  big  horn  spectacles,  and  smiled,  his  own  tired,  thin 
face  relaxing  its  tense  look  of  care. 

"You'll  get  back,  my  lad,"  he  said,  "when  they've 
fixed  you  up.  With  that  spirit  you'll  get  anywhere.** 

Enos  Dyer's  lips  trembled.  "It's  all  right,  then,'*  he 
murmured,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "I  haven't  done  nothin* 
yet,  an*  I  figger  to,  'fore  I  get  through." 

"What  were  you  doing  when  you  got  these?"  The 
surgeon  indicated  Dyer's  bandaged  shoulder  and  his 
slung  leg. 

"Just  tryin*  a  little  job  o'  my  own,  sir.'* 

"Not  under  orders?" 

"Well,  I  guess  I  was  under  orders,  sir — but  the  gettin* 
through  was  sort  o'  up  to  me." 

"  I  see.     You're  a  company  runner  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  surgeon  went  away.  Jane  did  what  she  could  to 
induce  sleep  for  Dyer,  who  needed  it  badly,  but  his  eyes 
-were  still  wide  when  dawn  drew  near.  By  and  by,  as  she 
came  to  give  him  water,  which  he  drank  thirstily,  he  said 
slowly: 


AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING        319 

"Did  you  hear  the  preacher  the  time  he  told  about 
that  feller  Daniel  in  'mongst  the  lions?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,  Enos." 

"I  was  just  wonderin'  if  he  was  in  'mongst  'em  now^ 
anywheres.  If  he  is,  I  guess  he  won't  get  hurt.  I've 
thought  about  that  story  a  lot  since  I  heard  him  tellin 
it.  I  guess  if  God  could  take  care  of  anybody  when  lions 
was  walkin'  all  'round  him,  He  could  do  it  when  anybody 
was  fightin',  don't  you?  And  I  guess  the  preacher's 
fightin',  wherever  he  is." 

Jane's  lips  smiled  a  little.  "Chaplains  don't  fight* 
you  know." 

"I'll  bet  he  does,"  Dyer  insisted. 

She  didn't  try  to  change  his  conviction,  but  somehow  it 
took  hold  of  her;  and  presently,  in  a  strange  hush  that  fell 
just  before  the  dawn,  when  there  came  a  cessation  of  sound 
of  the  guns  which  usually  were  to  be  heard  clearly  at  this 
distance  from  the  Front,  she  stood  in  a  doorway  that  faced 
the  east  and  took  a  well-worn  letter  from  her  pocket.  In 
the  faint  light  from  within  the  ward  her  eyes  once  more 
scanned  lines  she  already  knew  by  heart. 

Letters  from  Black  had  reached  her  infrequently  and 
the  latest  was  dated  weeks  ago.  Of  course  he  could  give 
her  no  details  of  his  movements,  neither  past  nor  expected; 
she  understood  also  that  he  could  say  little  of  that  which 
was  personal  to  himself  and  Jane.  No  man  writes  for  the 
scrutinizing  eye  of  a  censor  that  which  he  would  say  to- 
one  alone.  Yet  somehow  he  had  managed  to  convey  a  very 
vivid  sense  of  his  presence,  and  of  his  constant  thought 
of  her,  in  the  midst  of  his  work  among  his  men.  The 
last  paragraph,  especially,  was  one  to  stay  by  her  while 
she  should  have  a  memory,  reserved  though  the  words 
were  • 


320  RED  AND  BLACK 

"I  am  very  sure  that  in  all  this  experience  you  are  having 
you  must  find  the  thing  I  so  much  want  you  to  find. 
How  can  you  escape  it?  It  is  all  around  you.  I  can't 
get  away  from  it  a  minute.  You  know  what  I  mean.  I 
never  felt  it  so  strongly,  nor  so  depended  upon  it.  Every 
hour  it  is  in  my  thought  of  you.  You  are  well  up  toward 
the  Front  now,  I  suppose.  At  any  time  a  bomb  may  be 
dropped  on  your  Hospital;  it  is  always  a  shining  mark  for 
the  enemy.  Yet  I  am  not  anxious  about  you.  For  this 
I  know: — whatever  happens  to  you  or  me,  it  can  do  no 
harm  to  the  eternal  thing  which  is  ours." 

She  read  the  words  again  and  again.  Well  she  knew 
what  they  meant;  in  spite  of  the  restraint  in  them  they 
were  full  to  the  brim  with  his  feeling  toward  her.  Where 
was  he  now — near — or  far?  There  had  been  a  rumour 
here  that  the  division  in  which  he  served  had  been  sud 
denly  rushed  from  its  training  trenches  to  the  Front,  in  a 
desperate  attempt  to  stem  the  creeping  enemy  tide  threat 
ening  to  become  a  deluge  and  wash  away  all  defences. 
There  were  many  rumours;  few  could  be  trusted.  But  it 
might  easily  be  true;  he  might  at  this  very  hour  be  under 
fire,  even  though  he  remained  in  the  shelter  of  trench  or 
dugout.  Would  he  stay  in  such  shelter?  The  question  had 
never  occurred  to  her  in  just  this  form  before.  Her  ideas 
of  the  duties  of  a  regimental  chaplain  were  all  based  on  the 
knowledge  that  he  was  a  non-combatant,  like  Gary.  She 
had  had  far  more  fears  for  her  brother,  with  his  tempera 
ment,  full  of  recklessness  and  daring,  than  for  Robert 
Black.  But  now,  though  she  scouted  the  idea  of  Black's 
actually  fighting,  she  had  a  sudden  vision  of  him  in  danger. 
If  he  had  gone  with  his  men  up  to  those  front  lines,  where 
was  he  to-night? 

Suddenly  the  distant  sky-line  burst  into  flame  before  her 


AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING        321 

eyes.  She  had  seen  it  before,  that  sky-line,  during  the 
months  since  she  had  come  to  the  Field  Hospital,  but  al 
ways  before  it  had  been  when  she  was  too  busy  to  stop  to 
look  at  it.  Now,  in  the  brief  breathing  space,  she  was  at 
leisure  to  study  it  in  all  its  sinister  significance,  and  to 
listen  to  the  distant  thunder  of  the  guns. 

He  might  not  be  there — she  was  very  sure  he  was  not, 
for  the  returning  wounded  brought  fairly  accurate  reports 
of  what  divisions  were  engaged  in  the  fighting  in  this 
sector.  But  somewhere — somewhere — on  that  long,  bend^ 
ing  line,  stretching  over  so  many  long  miles,  and  now 
grown  so  thin  and  in  many  places  so  dangerously  weak 
compared  with  the  ever  augmenting  enemy  forces — some 
where  there  he  might  be.  According  to  that  persistent 
rumour  the  American  troops  who  had  been  rushed  forward 
were  at  a  point  less  than  twenty  miles  away.  Whatever 
happened,  however,  none  of  them  would  come  through 
this  particular  Field  Hospital,  and  it  might  be  very  long 
before  she  would  know  definitely  how  near  Black  had  been 
to  actual  danger. 

She  looked  at  her  little  service  watch — it  was  just  past 
four.  She  must  go  back:  it  would  not  be  long  now  before 
the  ambulances  would  be  rushing  in  with  the  fresh  wounded 
sent  back  from  that  angry  sky-line.  The  stretcher-beaters 
would  be  setting  their  woeful  burdens  down  before  Tier, 
and  all  she  had  to  give  must  be  theirs,  for  the  hour. 

For  a  moment  she  closed  her  eyes.  She  still  held  the 
letter  in  her  hand;  she  lifted  it  and  laid  her  cheek  against 
it;  then  she  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

"Oh,  wherever  you  are,"  she  breathed,  "I  think  you 
need  me.  I  think  you  are  thinking  of  me.  But  whether 
you  are  or  not — I'm  there. — Oh,  Robert  Black — I'm 
there!" 


322  RED'AND  BLACK 

V 

In  a  narrow,  winding,  muddy  ditch — which  was  all  it 
was,  though  it  went  by  another  name — with  short,  ladder- 
like  places  for  the  ascent  of  its  sides  here  and  there,  Robert 
Black  was  waiting,  with  a  detachment  of  his  men,  for  a 
certain  hour,  minute  and  second  previously  fixed  by  orders 
received  in  the  early  evening.  He  was  at  a  crisis  in  his 
experience  which  he  had  known  would  come  some  day, 
but  it  had  been  long  delayed.  Now  it  was  at  hand. 
These  men  with  whom  he  had  been  stationed,  throughout 
their  voyage  overseas,  their  foreign  training,  and  their 
slow  and  tedious  progress  toward  the  French  Front,  were 
about  to  receive  their  first  real  test.  At  that  fixed  early 
morning  hour  they  were  going  for  the  first  time  "over 
the  top." 

By  now  Black  knew  most  of  them  pretty  well.  In  the 
beginning  they  had  received  him  cautiously,  watching 
him  closely,  as  a  man  who  comes  to  a  regiment  with  a  cross 
on  his  collar  is  bound  to  be  watched.  They  hadn't  par 
ticularly  liked  their  former  chaplain,  whose  place  Black 
had  taken  at  almost  the  last  hour  before  they  sailed.  This 
man  had  never  been  able  to  get  very  near  to  them,  though 
he  had  tried  conscientiously  and  persistently  to  do  so. 
They  weren't  exactly  prejudiced  against  chaplains — 
they  supposed  they  were  somehow  necessary  and  unavoid 
able  adjuncts  of  military  service — but  they  didn't  see  so 
very  much  use  in  having  them  at  all.  So  when  Black 
came  they  had  looked  him  over  curiously  and  not  without 
a  certain  amount  of  prejudgment. 

The  voyage  over  had  been  a  rough  one;  a  large  propor 
tion  of  the  men  had  been  seasick.  Black,  who  had  crossed 
the  Atlantic  many  times  on  those  trips  back  home  to  see 
his  mother,  was  a  first-rate  sailor,  and  he  had  had  his  first 
chance  with  his  men  during  those  long  days  of  storm  and 


AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING        323 

wet  and  dark  discomfort.  He  had  made  the  most  of  it, 
though  he  had  taken  care  not  to  overdo  the  effort  to  bring 
cheer  to  those  who  if  not  seasick  were  mostly  homesick, 
whether  they  succeeded  in  concealing  it  or  not.  He  had 
gone  about  quietly  but  efficiently,  and  the  impression  he 
had  given  had  been  that  of  one  who  had  cast  in  his  lot 
with  his  regiment  for  better  or  for  worse,  though  he  wasn't 
making  any  fuss  about  it. 

When  they  had  reached  the  other  side  and  gone  into 
camp,  they  soon  discovered  that  the  first  impression  they 
had  had  of  their  chaplain  held;  that  he  meant  to  share 
and  share  alike  with  them  whatever  fell  to  their  lot. 
Though  he  rated  as  captain  and  had  therefore  the  right 
to  associate  with  the  officers  and  to  mess  with  them, 
he  didn't  seem  to  be  spending  much  time  at  it.  He 
was  very  good  friends  with  those  in  authority,  who 
seemed  to  like  him;  but  he  apparently  cared  more  about 
making  friends  with  the  private  in  the  ranks  than  with 
the  Major,  or  the  Colonel  commanding.  He  was  not  a 
joke-maker;  he  didn't  slap  the  boys  on  the  shoulder  nor 
shout  at  them;  but  he  carried  about  with  him  an  atmos 
phere  of  good  cheer  of  a  quiet  sort.  And  when,  now  and 
then,  it  came  to  a  contest  of  wits,  and  somebody  tried 
to  put  the  chaplain  in  a  corner,  he  was  sure  to  find  his 
way  out  with  a  quick  and  clever  retort  which  brought  the 
laugh  without  making  things  too  uncomfortable  for  the 
cornerer — unless  he  deserved  it,  in  which  case  he  was 
pretty  sure  to  wish  he  hadn't  spoken. 

As  to  preaching — they  crowded  to  hear  him,  after  the 
first  tentative  experiment.  The  same  unescapable  logic, 
the  same  clear  and  challenging  appeal,  the  same  unafraid 
plain-speaking  which  had  won  Redfield  Pepper  Burns  won 
these  men — who  were  only  boys  after  all.  When  it  came 


324  RED  AND  BLACK 

to  the  matter  of  preaching  they  were  keen  and  merciless 
critics.  They  didn't  want  to  be  talked  down  to;  they 
didn't  like  to  be  beguiled  into  listening  with  song  and 
dance;  they  wanted  a  man  if  he  were  going  to  speak  to 
them  at  all  to  do  it  without  mincing,  or  setting  traps  for 
their  attention.  They  wanted  him  to  look  like  a  man  and 
act  like  a  man — and  unequivocally  and  all  the  time  be 
a  man.  In  the  nature  of  things,  it  wasn't  difficult  for 
Robert  Black  to  fill  this  bill.  A  great  many  words  have 
been  written  in  the  effort  to  tell  what  soldiers  want — 
if  they  want  anything  at  all — from  their  chaplain.  They 
are  not  hard  to  satisfy,  critical  though  they  are  and  pitiless, 
when  they  detect  failure  to  measure  up  to  their  require 
ments.  The  greatest  of  these  requirements  is  certainly 
simple  enough  and  just  enough;  it's  only  what  is  required 
of  themselves,  which  is  to  be  men  and  comrades,  to  the  last 
ditch. 

It  was  not  the  last  ditch,  but  the  first  one,  to  which  they 
had  come  this  night.  The  trench  was  like  other  trenches, 
but  they  had  not  been  in  a  front-line  trench  before;  some 
how  it  seemed  different.  The  troops  whose  place  they 
had  taken  were  worn  and  dog-weary,  they  had  quitted 
the  place  with  evident  satisfaction;  they  had  held  it  five 
days  after  they  had  expected  to  be  relieved — it  was  a 
mighty  good  place  to  get  out  of.  And  now,  it  was  the  new 
arrivals'  turn  to  face  the  music  of  the  shells  and  the 
machine-gun  fire  and  the  snipers'  bullets — and  all  the 
rest  that  was  waiting  for  them.  Their  chance  had  come 
at  last. 

Black  had  been  ordered  to  stay  in  the  rear,  but  he  had 
courteously  disputed  the  order,  had  had  it  out  with  his 
superior  officer  and  had  been  told  to  go  along.  This, 
he  understood,  was  a  mere  matter  of  form,  to  try  him  out. 


AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING       325 

A  chaplain  had  a  perfect  right  to  go  where  he  would  with 
his  men,  provided  he  had  the  nerve.  And  why  shouldn't 
Black  have  the  nerve?  He  had  been  cultivating  it  for  a. 
good  many  years  now,  and  having  been  born  in  Scotland 
he  had  started  out  with  rather  more  than  his  share  of  it 
in  the  beginning.  Besides,  are  shot  and  shell  the  only 
things  to  try  what  a  man  is  made  of? 

The  men  in  the  trench  liked  having  their  chaplain  with 
them;  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that,  though  they  by  no 
manner  of  means  said  so.  They  hadn't  been  expecting 
to  have  him  accompany  them  to  the  very  Front,  and  when 
he  came  along  as  a  matter  of  course  they  were  glad  of  it. 
His  uniform  by  now  was  quite  as  mud-stained  and  worn 
as  theirs;  the  only  difference  was  that  they  were  expecting 
to  get  bullet  holes  in  theirs,  while  his,  they  considered, 
with  any  sort  of  luck  would  be  kept  intact,  Even  so, 
he  was  a  good  sport  to  stay  by  until  the  very  last  moment, 
and  they  appreciated  it.  He  was  a  comfortable  sort  to 
have  around.  He  wasn't  old  enough  to  be  the  father  of 
any  of  them,  but  he  was  something  like  an  older  brother. 
And  there  was  one  thing  about  him  they  very  definitely 
enjoyed,  and  that  was  his  smile.  It  wasn't  a  broad  grin, 
but  it  was  a  mighty  nice  one,  and  when  any  man  had  said 
something  that  brought  that  pleasant  laugh  to  Bob's  lips, 
that  man  always  felt  decidedly  warm  and  happy  inside. 
Because — well — the  chaplain  didn't  go  around  grinning 
conscientiously  at  everybody  all  the  while,  and  his  smMe 
wasn't  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  win.  Yes,  the 
secret  is  out — they  called  him  "Bob"  behind  his  back, 
and  they  called  him  that  because  they  liked  him  in  that 
capacity  of  elder  brother.  To  his  face  they  called  him 
"Parson." 

It  was  very  still  and  dark  in  the  trench:  the  raid  was  to 


326  RED  AND  BLACK 

start  with  the  opening  of  the  barrage  which  would  cover 
the  advance.  Night — and  darkness — and  quiet — and 
the  hour  before  dawn  at  which  the  courage  of  the  sons  of 
men  is  at  its  lowest — no  wonder  that  hearts  beat  fast  and 
faces  slackened  colour  beneath  the  tan,  and  the  minutes  at 
once  crawled  and  raced.  They  were  unquestionably 
nervous,  these  boys,  hard  as  they  tried  to  keep  cool  as 
veterans.  How  would  they  acquit  themselves? — that 
was  the  thing  that  worried  them.  For  the  fact  was  that 
in  this  particular  company  there  was  not  one  who  had  ever 
seen  actual  warfare;  they  were  all  yet  to  be  tried. 

Black  went  from  one  to  another,  taking  whispered 
messages,  hastily  scrawled  notes,  which  they  gave  to  him, 
and  making  clear  his  understanding  of  the  various  re 
quests.  They  all  wanted  to  shake  hands  with  him,  seem 
ing  to  feel  that  this  was  the  proper  farewell  to  take  of  him 
who  was  to  stay  behind.  He  wasn't  armed,  though  he 
wore  a  helmet  and  gas  mask,  like  themselves;  his  hands 
were  free  to  take  their  consignments,  as  his  spirit  was  free 
to  put  courage  into  them.  Not  that  they  realized  that 
he  was  doing  it;  all  they  knew  was  that  somehow  after 
they  had  had  a  word  with  him,  and  felt  that  warm  hand 
shake  of  his,  they  knew  that  they  were  stronger.  He 
believed  in  them — they  understood  that — and  they  meant 
to  measure  up.  That  was  about  what  his  presence 
amounted  to,  which  was  quite  enough. 

One  boy,  a  slender  fellow,  not  long  out  of  hospital  where 
he  had  been  sent  for  a  run  of  an  epidemic  disease,  came  to 
Black  at  almost  the  last  moment  with  a  diffident  question. 
"Parson,"  he  whispered,  "I  want  you  to  do  something 
for  me.  If  I — if  I  should  get  scared  out  there — or  any 
thing — and  the  boys  should  know  about  it — and  it  got 
around — or  anything — I — I — wish  you'd  see  it  didn't 


AT  FOUR  IN  THE  MORNING        327 

get  back  to  my  Dad.  He — always  said  I'd  get  over  bein* 
— shaky — when  the  time  came.  But — Parson,  would  you 
think  it  was  awful  wrong  to — lie  about  it  for  me  a  little? 
You  see,  it  would  cut  Dad  up  like  everything — and  I 
couldn't  bear " 

Black  put  his  lips  close  to  the  young  ear.  "I  won't 
have  to  lie,  Joe,"  he  said.  "I  haven't  the  least  doubt 
of  you — not  the  least.  Do  you  get  that?  I'm  telling 
you  the  absolute  truth." 

In  the  darkness  Joe  smiled.  After  a  moment  he  whis 
pered  back.  "Well,  I  guess  I'll  have  to  buck  up,"  he  said. 

"You've  bucked  up  now,"  came  back  the  whisper,  and 
Black's  hand  clasped  his  arm  tight  for  an  instant.  "What 
a  muscle  you've  got,  Joe!"  he  declared. 

The  arm  stiffened,  the  muscle  swelled.  "You  bet," 
agreed  the  boy  proudly,  and  hitched  up  his  cartridge 
belt.  "That's  what  trainin'  does  to  a  fellow.  Well — 
good-by,  Parson." 

"God  be  with  you,  Joe!     He  will — remember  that." 

"Yes,  sir — if  you  say  so."  And  Joe  walked  away, 
less  "shaky"  than  he  had  come. 

Then,  presently,  it  was  the  "Zero"  hour.  With  the 
first  boom  and  crash  of  the  covering  barrage  the  men  were 
up  and  over  the  top.  The  farthest  man  in  the  line  was 
Joe.  No,  not  the  farthest,  though  Joe  had  been  assigned 
that  place,  for  beyond  and  beside  him,  as  he  went  over, 
was  Robert  Black. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
A  SCARLET  FEATHER 

DEAR  Sis: 

I'm  going  to  cease  setting  down  the  big  stuff  for  a  space,  while 
1  write  to  you.  I'm  just  back  with  a  whole  skin  from  spending 
the  night  up  a  tree  watching  this  man's  army  pull  off  a  great  stunt 
in  the  way  of  a  surprise  for  the  enemy.  I've  sent  off  my  stuff  for 
my  paper  and  am  now  resting  up — but  a  letter  is  due  you,  and 
I've  found  a  way  to  get  it  to  you  by  special  delivery.  The  mes 
senger  starts  in  half  an  hour  by  motorcycle  for  your  sector,  and 
vows  he'll  put  it  in  your  hands  as  soon  as  he's  handed  over  his 
dispatches  to  the  C.  O.  So  I  can  let  myself  go  a  bit — if  I  scrawl 
fast. 

I've  had  great  luck  this  last  month  in  meeting  up  with  at  least 
three  people  whom  you'll  like  to  hear  about.  First: — R.  M.  B. — 
by  the  merest  chance,  for  an  hour  later  I'd  have  missed  him.  I 
simply  turned  a  corner  in  a  little  French  town  where  I'd  stopped 
with  an  officer  who  was  taking  me  with  him  up  to  the  Front,  and 
ran  square  into  a  black-eyed  chap  with  a  cross  on  his  collar  who 
was  so  tanned  and  so  husky  I  didn't  snap  to  for  a  full  minute. 
He  did,  though — and  had  me  gripped  with  a  grip  like  a  steel  trap. 
"Gary  Ray!"  he  shouted.  I  knew  the  voice — I  couldn't  forget 
that  voice  in  a  hurry — and  of  course  instantly  then  I  knew  the 
man.  Jolly!  Jane,  you  ought  to  see  him. 

Well,  he  hadn't  a  minute  to  spare  for  me,  unless  I'd  go  with 
him.  "Sure  thing,"  I  agreed.  "I've  got  an  hour  to  spare  while 
Major  Ferguson  checks  up  with  G.  H.  Q.  here.  What's  your 
little  party?" 

"It's  a  burial  party,"  said  he,  looking  me  in  the  eye,  same  as 
usual.  "If  you  haven't  had  that  particular  experience,  it  won't 
hurt  you,  and  on  the  way  we  can  talk  things  over." 

As  it  happened  I'd  passed  up  the  funerals,  thus  far,  being  oc- 

328 


A  SCARLET  FEATHER  329 

cupied  exclusively  with  the  living  and  those  on  the  other  side 
I  wanted  to  see  dead.  Anyhow,  it  was  worth  it  to  have  an  hour 
with  this  particular  chaplain,  whatever  job  he  was  at.  So  I  went 
along.  I  haven't  time  to  describe  it  to  you  here,  but  you  can 
bet  it  rated  a  special  half  column  for  my  paper.  It  was  a  mighty 
simple  little  affair,  no  frills,  just  a  group  of  sober  doughboys,  a 
flag,  some  wooden  crosses,  and  a  firing  squad — and  R.  M.  B. 
reading  the  service.  But  don't  you  think  "the  Resurrection 
and  the  Life"  didn't  get  over  to  us! 

On  the  way  to  the  field  and  back  I  heard  a  great  piece  of  news. 
R.  M.  B's  regiment  had  been  sent  back  into  rest  billets,  about  a 
fortnight  before,  and  a  group  of  entertainers  had  come  through 
the  little  town  one  evening  and  put  on  a  show  for  them.  It  was 
some  show,  and  the  bright  particular  star  was — oh,  you  never 
could  guess  if  you  hadn't  a  clue,  any  more  than  I  could.  Well, 
it  was  Fanny  Fitch !  Yes,  sir — over  here  with  a  bunch  of  vaude 
ville  people,  going  around  the  leave  areas  and  cheering  up  the 
boys  before  the  next  bout.  You  should  have  heard  the  chaplain 
describing  the  song  and  dance;  I  never  should  have  thought  it! 
Fanny  can't  sing  a  whole  lot — just  enough  to  get  by,  I  judge; 
but  dance  she  can,  and  jolly  she  does,  and  the  boys  fall  for  it  like 
rows  of  tenpins.  The  best  of  it,  according  to  R.M.B.,  is  that  she's 
happy  as  a  summer  cloud  doing  her  bit.  Why,  she's  just  plain 
got  into  the  game,  Sis,  as  I  told  her  to  do,  and  I  don't  know  what 
more  you  can  ask  of  anybody.  You're  nursing,  and  the  chaplain's 
preaching — and  burying — and  if  he  isn't  fighting  before  he  gets 
through  I'll  be  surprised,  knowing  how  pugilistic  he  can  be. 
And  I'm  skirmishing  on  the  edge  of  things  with  my  fountain  pen, 
and  Fanny  Fitch  is  making  eyes  at  the  boys  and  warming  the 
cockles  of  their  tired  hearts — bless  her  heart!  And  why  isn't 
her  job  as  good  as  any  of  ours,  since  it  helps  the  morale  as  it's 
bound  to  do?  All  I  know  is  I'm  going  to  tear  things  loose  and 
get  to  see  her  as  soon  as  I  can  make  it,  lest  some  nerw  shave-tail 
lieutenant  get  a  line  on  her  while  my  back  is  turned. 

Time's  up.  The  third  meet-up?  You'd  say  it  couldn't  happen, 
but  it  did.  It  was  a  week  earlier  than  this  that  I  stood  on  the 
side  of  the  road  and  watched  a  couple  of  battalions  march  by  on 
their  way  to  the  training  trenches  in  a  quiet  sector.  And  behold 
there  was  a  first  lieutenant  as  was  a  first  lieutenant,  and  his  name 


330  RED  AND  BLACK 

back  In  the  States  was  Tommy  Lockhart!    Talk  about  making  a 
man  of  a  man — you  ought  to  see  our  Tom! 

Luck  to  you  and  love  to  you 

Always  your  same  old 

GARY. 

He  finished  it  in  a  hurry,  for  the  Colonel's  messenger 
could  not  be  kept  waiting.  After  that  he  did  some  ma 
nipulating  and  manoeuvring,  which  in  the  end  resulted, 
a  few  days  later,  in  his  getting  the  chance  he  wanted. 
What  Gary  could  not  bring  about  in  one  way  he  could  in 
another,  and  more  than  one  officer  and  man  in  authority, 
if  he  had  owned  up  honestly,  would  have  had  to  admit  that 
a  certain  war  correspondent  had  a  way  of  asking  favours 
which  it  was  somehow  difficult  to  refuse.  Gary's  face  was 
his  fortune,  for  it  was  the  face  of  a  modest  but  high-spirited 
non-combatant  who  was  afraid  of  nothing  so  that  he  should 
fulfil  his  commission.  Usually  he  was  asking  to  be  sent 
to  the  most  active  front,  and  pressing  his  case;  so  now  when 
he  wanted  to  make  a  dash  to  the  rear,  without  explaining 
why,  those  who  could  further  his  request  were  glad  to  do  so. 
It  therefore  presently  came  about  that  young  Ray  made 
his  trip  in  an  official  car,  in  the  company  of  several  officers, 
with  a  number  of  hours  to  spare  before  the  return  in  which 
to  hunt  up  a  certain  group  of  entertainers,  which  he  meant 
to  locate  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  The  more  he  thought 
about  that  "shave-tail  lieutenant"  and  others  of  his  ilk, 
the  more  eager  he  was  to  remind  Fanny  Fitch  of  his 
presence  in  this  new  world  of  hers. 

The  hunt  took  so  much  time  that  it  began  to  look  as  if 
Gary's  usual  luck  had  deserted  him,  when  he  came  rather 
suddenly  upon  his  quarry.  It  was  the  edge  of  the  evening, 
and  the  edge  of  a  French  town  in  which  was  quartered 
a  division  on  its  way  to  the  Front.  A  big  audience  of  men 


A  SCARLET  FEATHER  331 

was  seated  on  the  grass  watching  a  performance  taking 
place  on  an  improvised  platform,  lighted  with  flaring 
torches.  At  the  moment  of  Gary's  arrival  a  young  violin 
ist  was  playing  softly  a  series  of  haunting  Scottish  airs, 
and  a  hush  had  fallen  over  the  listeners  which  spoke  of  dan 
gerous  susceptibility  at  a  time  when  men  must  not  be 
permitted  to  grow  soft  with  dreams,  But  before  this 
state  of  mind  had  had  a  chance  to  make  serious  inroads, 
the  fiddler  changed  his  tune.  He  dashed  without  warning 
into  a  popular  marching  song,  a  lad  with  a  concertina 
leaped  upon  the  stage,  and  a  girl  in  a  scarlet  skirt,  a  black 
velvet  coat,  and  cap  with  a  long,  scarlet  feather,  ran  out 
from  a  sheltering  screen.  In  her  arms  she  carried  a  great 
flaming  bunch  of  poppies,  and  over  them  she  laughed  down 
at  her  audience.  Standing  on  the  step  below  the  stage 
she  began  to  sing. 

It  was  just  such  a  song  as  Gary  Ray — and  most  of  the 
boys  before  him — had  heard  a  thousand  times.  The 
singer,  as  he  had  written  Jane,  had  no  real  voice  for  sing 
ing,  only  a  few  clear  tones  which,  the  moment  the  notes 
of  the  song  took  her  above  or  below  the  middle  register, 
became  forced  and  breathy;  but  somehow  that  didn't 
much  matter.  She  had  a  clear  enunciation,  she  had  youth 
and  a  delightfully  saucy  smile,  and  she  had — well — what 
is  it  which  makes  all  the  difference  between  one  such  per 
former  and  another — that  elusive  quality  which  none  can 
define,  but  which  all  can  recognize?  Spirit,  dash, 
beauty — they  were  all  there — and  something  else — some 
thing  new — something  irresistible.  What  was  it?  Try 
ing  to  discover  what  it  was,  Gary  gradually  made  his  way 
forward,  slipping  from  one  position  to  another  through 
the  seated  ranks  without  ever  lifting  his  body  high  enough 
to  attract  attention.  Nearer  and  nearer  he  came  to  the 


332  RED  AND  BLACK 

front,  and  clearer  and  clearer  grew  his  view  of  Fanny's 
laughing  face.  He  didn't  want  her  to  recognize  him  so 
he  kept  his  own  face  well  in  shadow,  though  he  knew  that 
in  the  torchlight  her  audience  must  be  to  her  mostly  a  blur 
of  watching  eyes  and  smiling  lips,  and  masses  of  olive- 
drab.  He  came  to  a  halt  at  length  well  sheltered  behind 
a  young  giant  of  a  corporal,  around  whose  shoulder  he 
could  peer  in  safety.  And  then  he  looked  for  all  he  was 
worth  at  the  girl  who  was  holding  these  boys  in  the  grip 
of  her  attraction,  and  doing  with  it  what  she  would. 

And  what  was  she  doing  with  it?  What  could  Fanny 
have  been  expected  to  do?  It  was  undoubtedly  her 
chance  to  capture  more  masculine  admiration  in  the  lump 
than  had  ever  been  her  privilege  before.  There  were  a 
goodly  number  of  officers  in  her  audience,  mostly  lounging 
in  the  rear  of  the  ranks  upon  the  grass,  but  none  the  less 
for  that  foemen  worthy  of  her  steel.  She  had  every  oppor 
tunity  to  use  her  fascinations  with  one  end,  and  only  one, 
in  view.  In  satisfying  her  own  love  of  excitement,  she 
could  easily,  under  the  guise  of  entertainment,  do  these 
boys  in  uniform  more  harm  than  good.  To  tell  the  honest 
truth  it  was  with  this  fear  in  mind  that  Gary  now  watched 
her.  Great  as  had  been  her  attraction  for  him  in  the  past, 
so  great  did  he  expect  it  to  be  for  these  others  now — and 
it  had  not  been  possible  in  that  past  for  him  to  fail  to 
recognize  the  subtle  nature  of  that  attraction. 

He  studied  her  from  the  shelter  of  the  broad  shoulder 
in  front  of  him  with  the  eyes  of  a  hawk.  Let  Fanny  give 
these  young  Americans  one  look  which  was  not  what  Gary 
Ray  wanted  it  to  be,  and  he  would  steal  away  again  as 
quietly  as  he  had  come  and  never  let  her  know.  He 
wasn't  sure  that  "R.  M.  B."  would  have  recognized  what 
he  himself  would,  in  the  situation;  and  the  fact  that  Black 


A  SCARLET  FEATHER  333 

had  spoken  with  such  hearty  praise  of  Fanny's  perfor 
mance  hadn't  wholly  served  to  reassure  him.  She  had 
known  from  the  beginning  that  the  chaplain  was  present 
in  her  audience — that  would  make  a  difference,  of  course. 
She  didn't  know  now  who  was  here;  Gary  would  see  her 
exactly  as  she  was.  It  was  no  chaplain  who  was  watching 
her  now,  it  was  an  accredited  war  correspondent  with 
every  faculty  of  observation  at  the  alert,  his  memory 
trained  to  keep  each  impression  vivid  as  he  had  received  it. 

It  was  a  long  time  that  Fanny  was  upon  the  rough  stage, 
for  hrfr  audience  couldn't  seem  to  have  enough  of  her. 
Again  and  again  they  recalled  her,  having  hardly  let  her 
pass  from  sight.  It  was  difficult  to  analyze  the  absorbing 
interest  of  her  "turn,"  made  up  as  it  was,  like  patchwork, 
of  all  sorts  of  unexpected  bits.  Song  and  story,  parade 
and  dance — one  never  knew  what  was  coming  next,  and 
when  it  did  come  it  might  be  the  very  slightest  of  sketches. 
It  was  very  evidently  her  personality  which  gave  the  whole 
thing  its  attraction;  in  less  clever  hands  it  might  have 
fallen  fiat.  Yet  through  it  all  seemed  to  run  one  thread, 
that  of  genuine  desire  to  bring  good  cheer  without  resort 
to  means  unworthy. 

Yes,  that  was  what  Gary  had  to  concede,  before  he  had 
looked  and  listened  very  long.  Though  she  was  using 
every  art  which  he  had  known  she  possessed,  and  some  he 
hadn't  known  of,  she  was  doing  it  in  a  way  to  which  he 
could  not  take  exception.  Though  he  was  becoming 
momently  more  jealous  of  all  those  watching  eyes  because 
he  could  see  how  delighted  they  were,  he  grew  surer  and 
surer  that  Fanny  was  definitely  and  restrainedly  doing  the 
whole  thing  as  the  boys'  sisters  might  have  done  it,  if 
their  sisters  had  been  as  accomplished  as  she.  His  heart 
warmed  to  her  as  it  had  never  warmed  before.  After  all, 


334  RED  AND  BLACK 

Gary  said  to  himself,  this  war  had  done  something  splendid 
to  Fanny  Fitch  as  well  as  to  everybody  else.  She  wasn't 
a  vampire,  she  was  a  good  sport,  and  she  was  playing  up, 
playing  the  game,  with  the  very  best  that  was  in  hen 
just  as  R.  M.  B.  had  said.  And  Gary  was  glad;  he  was 
gladder  than  he  had  ever  been  about  anything. 

The  moment  she  had  finally  left  the  stage,  and  the 
sleight-of-hand  man  who  was  the  other  member  of  the 
little  company  had  secured  the  reluctant  attention  of  the 
audience,  loth  to  let  Fanny  go,  Gary  wormed  his  way  to 
one  side  and  out  of  the  torch-light  into  the  clear  darkness 
now  fully  fallen.  He  went  around  behind  the  screen,  and 
found  a  slim  figure  in  scarlet  and  black  sitting  with  violin 
ist  and  concertinist  upon  a  plank,  placed  across  two  boxes. 
An  older  woman  with  a  plain  face  and  fine  eyes  looked  up 
at  Gary  and  shook  her  head  at  him  with  a  warning  smile. 
Evidently  she  was  in  charge,  and  very  much  in  charge, 
of  this  girl  who  was  travelling  about  France  with  men 
performers  among  so  many  men  in  uniform.  But  before 
she  could  send  him  away  Fanny  herself  had  looked  up 
from  a  letter  she  was  reading  by  a  flash-light  the  little  con 
certinist  was  holding  for  her. 

She  sprang  up  with  a  smothered  exclamation  of  joy 
and  came  to  him.  The  older  woman  rose  also  and  followed 
her.  Fanny  turned  to  her. 

"It's  an  old  friend,  Mr.  Ray — Mrs.  Burnett."  She 
made  the  introduction  under  her  breath,  for  at  the  moment 
the  audience  on  the  other  side  of  the  screen  was  silent, 
watching  a  difficult  trick.  "He's  a  war  correspondent, 
and  I'm  sure  hasn't  long  to  stay.  Please  let  me  talk  with 
him,  just  outside  here." 

So,  in  a  minute,  when  Gary  had  disarmed  the  duenna 
with  his  frank  and  friendly  smile,  he  led  Fanny  a  stone's- 


A  SCARLET  FEATHER  335 

throw  away,  just  out  of  the  flare  of  the  torches,  and  looked 
down  into  her  face. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "here  we  are!  And  you're  playing 
the  game,  for  all  that's  in  it.  I'm  pleased  as  Punch  that 
you've  come  along.  Tell  me  all  about  it,  quick.  I've 
got  to  be  back  in  the  car  that  brought  me  in  half  an  hour, 
not  to  delay  Colonel  Brooks." 

"Then  there  isn't  time  to  tell  you  all  about  it,"  Fanny 
answered,  "and  there's  nothing  to  tell,  either,  except 
what  you  see.  I  am  very  happy  to  be  of  use — as  I  think 
I  am." 

"I  should  say  you  were.  I've  been  watching  you  for  a 
full  half-hour,  and  I  never  saw  a  jollier  stunt  put  over. 
In  that  red  and  black  you  beat  anything  in  pink  and 
white  I  ever  saw — to  speak  figuratively.  You  see — I've 
only  seen  you  in  pink  and  white,  before!" 

Fanny  laughed.  "And  I've  never  before  seen  you  in 
olive-drab.  You're  perfectly  stunning,  of  course.  How 
did  you  know  I  was  here — or  didn't  you  know?" 

"The  chaplain  of  the th  told  me,"  Gary  explained, 

watching  her. 

"Oh,  yes!"  Fanny's  eyes  met  his  straightforwardly. 
She  was  made  up  for  the  stage  but  he  didn't  mind  that, 
because  he  knew  it  had  to  be.  "It  was  so  strange  to  see 
him,  in  uniform.  He's  looking  every  inch  a  soldier,  isn't 
he  ? — even  though  he's  not  one." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  he  isn't.  Yes,  he's  great — and  you're 
greater!  It's  all  in  the  nature  of  things  that  he  should 
come  over  and  do  his  bit,  but  you  could  hardly  have  been 
expected  to  do  yours." 

"Why  not?  Just  because  I've  always  been  a  frivolous 
thing,  is  that  any  reason  why  I  shouldn't  sober  down  now 
and  be  useful?" 


336  RED  AND  BLACK 

Gary  smiled.  "You  don't  look  exactly  sobered  down, 
you  know,"  he  told  her,  glancing  from  the  dashing  scarlet 
feather  in  the  little  cap  set  at  an  angle  on  her  blonde  head, 
to  the  high-heeled  scarlet  slippers  on  her  pretty  feet. 

"Oh,  but  I  am.  I'm  giving  myself  more  seriously  to 
being  a  little  fool  than  I  ever  did  to  trying  to  seem  wise." 

"And  in  doing  it,  you're  wisest  of  all!"  Gary  exulted. 
"Fanny — I've  something  to  tell  you.  I  wouldn't  have 
been  sure  once,  whether  it  was  something  that  would  give 
you  pleasure  to  hear  or  not,  but — yes — I'm  fairly  sure 
now.  You  knew — you  must  have  known,  what  I  used  to 
be,  though  you  didn't  see  much  of  me  till  that  was  pretty 
well  over.  I  want  you  to  know  that — it's  all  over  now. 
I've  had  every  sort  of  test,  as  you  may  imagine,  since  I 
left  Jane — and  Mr.  Black,  and  Doctor  Burns — the  people 
who  stood  by  me  when  I  was  down — and  I  haven't  given 
in  once.  Perhaps  I  will  give  in,  some  day,  but  I  don't 
think  it.  You  see — I  can't  disappoint  them.  And — I'd 
like  to  think — you  care  too  whether — I  make  good." 

A  great  burst  of  applause  came  from  the  ranks  upon 
the  grass,  followed  by  a  roar  of  laughter.  Gary  drew 
Fanny  a  step  or  two  farther  away,  though  they  two  were 
already  in  deep  shadow,  made  the  deeper  by  contrast  with 
the  circle  of  radiance  cast  by  the  torches. 

"Of  course,  I  care,"  she  answered,  and  he  strained  his 
eyes  in  the  darkness  in  the  effort  to  see  her  face.  "  Gary, 
I  want  you  to  know  that — ever  so  many  things  look  differ 
ent  to  me,  over  here.  I — perhaps  you  won't  believe  it, 
but  it's  true — absolutely  true — that  when  I  face  an  audi 
ence  like  that  one  out  there  I  feel  like — almost  like — 
a  mother  to  those  boys.  And  I  just  want  to — be  good 
to  them — and  help  them  forget  the  hard  things  they've 
seen,  for  a  little  while." 


A  SCARLET  FEATHER  337 

He  could  have  laughed  aloud,  at  the  idea  of  ever  hearing 
anything  like  this  from  the  lips  of  Fanny  Fitch.  Yet, 
somehow,  he  could  not  doubt  that  there  was  truth  in  the 
astonishing  words,  and  it  made  him  very  happy  to  hear 
them.  There  had  been  that  in  her  performance,  as  he  had 
observed,  which  gave  strong  colour  to  this  point  of  view. 
Certainly,  the  experience  of  being  close  to  the  heart  of  the 
great  struggle  was  doing  strange  things  to  everybody. 
Why  should  it  not  have  worked  this  miracle  with  her? 

"Fanny — "  he  felt  for  her  hand,  and  took  it  in  both 
his,  while  he  stooped  lower  to  speak  into  her  face, — "do 
you  know  that  you  and  I  are  a  lot  alike?  It's  supposed 
to  be  that  people  who  are  alike  should  steer  clear  of  each 
other,  but  Fm  not  so  sure.  You  and  I  are  always  keyed 
up  to  a  pitch  of  adventure — we  like  it,  it's  the  breath  of 
life  to  us.  I  can  understand  it  in  you — you  can,  in  me. 
Why  shouldn't  we  go  after  it — together?  Why  couldn't 
we  make  a  wonderful  thing  of  our  lives,  doing  things  to 
gether?  Why,  if  I  could  have  made  an  airman,  for  in 
stance — as  Fd  have  liked  mightily  to  do  if  I  hadn't  been 
a  newspaper  man  and  had  my  job  cut  out  for  me — I  can 
imagine  your  being  ready  to  go  up  with  me  and  take  every 
chance  with  me — you  could  be  just  that  sort  of  a  good 
fellow.  And  even  on  the  every-day,  plain  ground — why, 
dear — if  you  cared " 

Fanny  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  he  could  see  that 
she  was  looking  away  from  him,  toward  the  boys  on  the 
grass,  and  the  stage,  and  the  torches. 

"I  want  to  go  on  doing  this,  while  the  war  lasts,"  she 
said,  "as  long  as  I  can  hold  out." 

"Of  course  you  do.  And  I  want  to  go  on  with  my  job. 
We're  both  taking  chances.  I  don't  suppose  a  shot  will 
get  you — but — one  might  get  me." 


338  RED  AND  BLACK 

"It  might  get  me,  too.  I'm  going  next  to  some  of  the 
hospitals,  and  they  are  shelled  sometimes,  aren't  they?" 

"Sure  thing.  And  the  funny  thing  is,  I  shouldn't  want 
you  not  to  go,  any  more  than  you'd  want  to  keep  me  in 
safe  places.  Isn't  that  true?" 

"Yes!"     She  whispered  it. 

"Then,"  he  argued  triumphantly,  "doesn't  that  prove 
that  we're  fit  mates?  And  if  we  just  knew  that  we  be 
longed  to  each  other,  wouldn't  that — oh,  don't  mind  my 
saying  it  that  way — wouldn't  that  put  a  lot  more  punch 
into  our  work?" 

"It  might." 

He  well  remembered  that  delicious  little  laugh  of  hers; 
it  had  never  delighted  him  more  than  it  did  now. 

"Not  that  yours  needs  any  more  punch,"  he  went  on, 
rather  deliriously,  in  his  joy.  It  certainly  did  give  zest 
to  a  man's  wooing  to  know  that  a  few  paces  away  were 
several  hundred  rivals  in  admiration  of  his  choice.  Not 
one  of  those  fellows  but  would  have  given  his  eyes  to  be 
standing  back  here  in  the  shadow  with  the  girl  of  the 
scarlet  feather!  "Punch!  I  should  say  so.  How  you 
did  put  it  over!  And  all  the  while  I  wanted  to  jump  up 
and  yell — '  Keep  your  distance — she's  mine  !'  ' 

"Oh — but  you  weren't  as  sure  as  that!"  Fanny  tried 
to  withdraw  her  hand. 

But  Gary  held  it  fast.  "No,  I  wasn't  sure,  not  by  a 
darned  sight.  I'm  not  sure  yet — except  of  one  thing. 
And  that's  if  you  send  me  away  to-night  not  sure  I'll  go 
to  pieces  with  unhappiness  and  my  work  '11  run  a  fair 
chance  of  going  to  pieces  too.  Heaven  knows  when  I'll 
see  you  again,  with  the  scrap  getting  hotter  all  the  time. 
I  don't  mean  to  play  on  the  pathetic,  but — well — you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  this  is  war-time — and  I'm  green 


A  SCARLET  FEATHER  339 

with  jealousy  of  every  doughboy  who'll  see  you  from  now 
on " 

He  hardly  knew  what  he  was  saying  now.  The  violin 
ist  had  begun  to  play  again.  The  boys  on  the  grass  had 
fallen  silent.  The  torches  flared  and  fell  and  flared  again 
in  the  light  breeze  which  had  suddenly  sprung  up.  In  a 
minute  more  he  must  go;  he  must  run  no  risk  of  making 
the  car-load  of  officers  wait  for  him. 

Fanny  lifted  her  face  and  spoke  to  him  in  a  whisper. 
"Gary,  will  you  promise  me — that  you'll  never — go  back 
to  the  old — ways?" 

"Oh,  I'd  like  to  promise  you!"  he  whispered  back  eag 
erly.  "I  want  to.  That  will  make  it  surer  than  sure — 
if  I  can  promise  you.  I  do  promise  you — on  my  honour — 
and  before — God." 

They  stood  a  moment  in  silence  again,  then  Gary  flung 
his  arms  around  her  and  felt  hers  come  about  his  neck. 

"I  want  to  promise  you  something,  too,"  her  voice 
breathed  in  his  ear.  "I'll  never,  never  face  an  audience 
like  this  without — remembering  that  you  might  be  in  it. 
And  I'll  play — as  you  would  like  me  to.  Didn't  I — to 
night — without  knowing?" 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  How  could  she  have  known,  and 
given  him  what  he  wanted  most?  "Yes,  you  did — bless 
you!  And  I'll  trust  you,  as  you'll  trust  me.  Oh,  I 
didn't  know  how  much  I  loved  you,  till  you  said  that. 
Fanny — we  were  meant  for  each  other — I  know  we  were!" 

Every  man  has  said  it,  and  Gary  was  as  sure  as  they. 
Perhaps  he  was  right — as  right  as  they.  Anyhow,  as  he 
went  away,  he  was  gloriously  happy  in  the  thought  that 
though  those  hundreds  on  the  grass  might  thrill  with 
pleasure  as  the  girl  with  the  scarlet  feather  came  out  to 
sing  them  her  farewell  song,  not  one  of  them  all  could  know 


340  RED  AND  BLACK 

as  he  did,  that  behind  the  enchanting  gayety  beat  a  real 
heart,  one  that  belonged  only  to  a  certain  war  correspond 
ent,  already  many  miles  away!  Surely,  if  she  could  trust 
him,  he  could  trust  her,  and  mutual  trust,  as  all  the  world 
knows,  is  the  essential  basis  for  every  human  relation 
worth  having.  On  this  basis,  then,  was  this  new  relation 
established;  and  the  augury  for  the  future  was  one  on 
which  to  count  with  hope — even  with  confidence. 


CHAPTER  XX 
A  HAPPY  WARRIOR 

Field  Hospital  in  which  Jane  was  at  work  was 
J-  now  seeing  its  busiest  days.  A  steady  stream  of 
wounded  men  poured  into  it,  day  and  night,  frequently 
augmented  after  a  serious  engagement  at  the  Front  by  such 
a  torrent  of  extra  cases  that  every  resource  was  heavily 
overtaxed.  Surgeons  and  nurses  worked  to  the  limit  and 
beyond  it;  they  kept  on  long  after  they  should  have  been 
released.  In  Jane's  whole  experience  in  this  place  no  doctor 
or  nurse  ever  gave  up  and  was  sent  to  the  rear  until  actual 
ly  forced  to  do  so,  by  pure  physical  inability  longer  to  con 
tinue.  It  was  amazing  how  endurance  held  out,  when 
the  need  was  great,  by  sheer  force  of  nerve  and  will. 
Yet  the  strain  told,  and  it  showed  more  and  more  in 
the  worn  faces  of  those  upon  whom  the  responsibility  fell 
heaviest. 

At  a  time  when  the  situation  was  most  trying,  and  the 
whole  hospital  force  was  exhausting  itself  with  effort  to 
cover  the  demand,  a  visitor  appeared  upon  the  scene  who 
changed  the  face  of  things  in  an  hour.  He  was  a  surgeon 
from  a  famous  Base  Hospital,  himself  distinguished  both 
in  America,  from  which  he  came,  and  in  France,  where 
he  had  been  long  serving  far  in  advance  of  most  of  his 
countrymen.  He  had  chosen  to  spend  a  brief  leave  from 
his  work  in  visiting  various  Field  Hospitals  and  Casualty 
Clearing  Stations,  and  on  account  of  his  reputation  for 

341 


342  RED  AND  BLACK 

remarkable  success  in  his  own  branch  of  regional  surgery 
his  visits  had  been  welcomed  and  made  the  most  of  by  his 
colleagues  in  the  profession. 

Arriving  at  this  particular  Field  Hospital  he  found  its 
operating  rooms  choked  with  cases,  its  surgeons  working 
in  mad  haste  to  give  each  man  his  chance  for  life,  in  spite 
of  the  rush;  its  nurses  standing  by  to  the  point  of  ex 
haustion.  Their  forces  had  been  depleted  that  very  day 
by  the  sudden  and  tragic  loss  of  their  Chief,  who  at  the 
conclusion  of  an  incredible  number  of  hours  of  unceasing 
labour  at  the  operating  table  had  dropped  quietly  at  the 
feet  of  his  assistants  and  been  carried  out,  not  to  return. 
He  was  a  man  beyond  middle  age,  a  slender  gray-haired 
hero  of  indomitable  will,  who  had  known  well  enough  that 
he  was  drawing  upon  borrowed  capital  but  had  withheld 
none  of  it  on  that  account.  His  removal  from  the  head 
of  his  forces  had  had  no  outer  effect  upon  them  except 
to  make  them  redouble  their  efforts  to  fill  the  gap;  but  not 
a  man  nor  woman  there  who  was  not  feeling  the  weaker 
for  the  loss. 

It  was  at  this  hour  that  Doctor  Leaver,  looking  in  upon 
the  shambles  that  the  operating  room  had  become,  and 
recognizing  the  tremendous  need,  a  need  greater  than  he 
had  left  behind,  took  off  his  coat,  put  on  the  smeared 
gown  in  which  Doctor  Burnside  had  fallen  at  his  post — 
there  was  not  a  clean  one  to  be  had  in  the  depleted  supply 
room — and  went  quietly  to  work.  He  waited  for  no 
authority  from  anywhere;  he  was  needed  for  hurt  and 
dying  men,  and  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  Compara 
tively  fresh  because  of  his  brief  vacation  from  his  own 
work,  experienced  beyond  any  of  the  men  who  had  been  the 
Chiefs  associates,  he  assumed  the  control  as  naturally  as 
they  gave  it  to  him. 


A  HAPPY  WARRIOR  343 

"By  George!  I  never  saw  anything  like  this!*'  burst 
smothered ly  from  the  lips  of  one  of  the  younger  surgeons, 
as  he  received  certain  supplies  from  Jane's  hands.  "Talk 
about  rapid  work! — Why,  the  man's  lightning  itself. 
He's  speeded  us  all  up,  though  we  thought  we  were  making 
a  record  before.  If  anybody'd  told  me  this  morning  that 
before  night  I'd  be  fetching  and  carrying  for  Leaver  of 
Baltimore,  I'd  have  told  him  no  such  luck.  Why,  say — 
I  thought  I  was  tired!  I'm  fresh  as  a  mule,  as  long  as  he 
stands  there." 

Doctor  Leaver  remained  for  five  days,  until  a  man  to 
take  the  dead  Chief's  place  could  be  found.  During  that 
period  he  stopped  work  only  to  snatch  a  few  hours'  rest 
when  he  could  best  be  spared — if  such  intervals  ever  came. 
His  tall,  sinewy  figure  and  lean,  aquiline  face  became  the 
most  vitally  inspiring  sight  in  the  whole  place,  the  eyes  of 
surgeons,  nurses,  and  patients  resting  with  confidence  upon 
this  skilful  quiet  man  who  did  such  marvellous  things  with 
such  assured  ease. 

"Why,"  one  nurse  declared  to  Jane,  as  the  two  made 
ready  trays  of  instruments  just  from  the  sterilizer,  "it 
seems  as  if  he  had  only  to  look  at  a  case  that's  almost 
gone  to  have  it  revive.  I've  got  so  that  I  shall  expect  to 
see  the  dead  sit  up,  pretty  soon,  if  he  tells  them  to.  That 
red-headed  boy  over  there — I  wouldn't  have  said  he  had 
one  chance  in  a  million  to  recover  from  shock,  two  hours 
ago,  when  he  came  in.  And  now  look  at  him — smiling 
at  everybody  who  comes  near  him ! " 

"Yes,  Doctor  Leaver  is  wonderful,"  Jane  agreed,  "But 
remember  who  he  is — one  of  the  very  most  famous  Ameri 
can  surgeons  we  have  over  here.  And  modern  surgery 
does  do  miracles — in  the  right  hands.  I  never  cease  to 
wonder  at  it." 


344  RED  AND  BLACK 

One  nurse  was  like  another  to  the  busy  chief  surgeon,  or 
so  it  seemed — they  couldn't  be  sure  that  he  would  ever 
know  any  of  them  again  if  he  saw  them  after  this  was  over. 
But  on  the  fourth  day  of  his  stay,  as  somebody  called 
sharply — "  Miss  Ray !" — Jane  noted  that  he  looked  sudden 
ly  over  at  her  with  that  quick,  penetrating  glance  of  his 
which  was  keeping  everybody  on  the  jump.  That  same 
evening,  during  the  first  lull — or  what  might  be  called 
that — which  had  occurred  for  hours  on  end,  he  came  to 
her. 

"I  have  a  message  for  you,  Miss  Ray,"  he  said,  "if  you 
are  the  Miss  Ray  who  comes  from  the  same  part  of  the 
States  as  a  young  man  named  Enos  Dyer." 

"Oh,  yes,  Doctor  Leaver."     Jane  looked  up  eagerly. 

"Come  out  here,  please,  where  we  can  talk  a  minute," 
and  the  tall  surgeon  led  her  across  the  ward  to  an  open 
door.  He  paused  beside  her  in  this  doorway,  drawing  in 
deeply  the  cool  damp  air  which  poured  in  from  outside,  for 
the  night  like  so  many  nights  in  France  was  wet.  He 
passed  his  hand  across  his  brow,  smoothing  back  the  dark, 
straight  hair,  moist  with  his  unceasing  labours. 

"My  word,  but  that  feels  good!"  he  said.  "There  are 
places  in  the  world  still,  that  don't  smell  of  carbolic  and 
ether."  And  he  smiled  at  Jane,  who  smiled  back.  "How 
many  hours'  sleep  have  you  had  in  the  last  forty-eight?" 
he  questioned  suddenly,  eyeing  understandingly  the  violet 
shadows  beneath  her  eyes. 

"As  many  as  you — or  more — Doctor  Leaver,"  she  an 
swered  lightly.  "  I've  learned  to  do  without,  now — as  you 
did,  long  ago." 

"Nobody  ever  learns  to  do  without.  Get  some  to 
night,  please,  without  fail." 

"You  sound  like  a  surgeon  I  know  back  home,"  she 


A  HAPPY  WARRIOR  345 

said.  She  knew  he  would  welcome  a  bit  of  relaxation  from 
discipline  during  this  brief  interval  of  rest. 

"Who?  Red  Pepper  Burns?" 

"Indeed,  yes!  How  could  you  know?"  she  asked,, 
though  less  surprised  than  she  might  have  been  if  she  had 
not  already  had  many  strange  encounters,  here  in  this 
land  of  strangers. 

"He's  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world — as  he  is  that 
of  plenty  of  other  people.  If  you  know  him,  Miss  Ray, 
you  understand  that  my  heart  warms  at  the  very  mention, 
of  him." 

She  nodded.  "You  knew  how  he  wanted  to  come 
over?" 

"Yes!  Hard  luck.  I  wanted  him  badly  with  me.  But 
he's  represented  over  here,  Miss  Ray,  in  the  best  way  a 
man  can  be,  short  of  actual  personal  service.  I  learned 
from  him  a  method  of  overcoming  traumatic  shock  which 
is  more  effective  than  any  I've  found  in  use  here.  It's 
about  our  most  difficult  problem,  you  know.  I  scouted 
Burns'  theory  in  the  beginning,  but  I've  had  a  great  chance 
to  try  it  out  over  here,  and  it  certainly  does  save  some 
pretty  desperate  cases.  If  I  can  ever  get  a  minute  to  write 
I'll  tell  him  a  few  things  that  will  make  him  very  happy/' 

"I  am  so  glad,"  she  said — and  looked  it. 

"Now  for  my  message.  Back  at  Base  I  had  a  case  that 
interested  me  mightily,  not  so  much  pathologically  as 
psychologically.  This  boy  Dyer  was  under  my  hands  for 
a  number  of  weeks — he's  back  at  the  Front  now — and  a 
more  naive,  engaging  youngster  from  the  back  country  I 
never  knew.  He  had  us  all  interested  in  him,  he  was  so 
crazy  to  be  under  fire  again.  You  had  him  here,  I  believe, 
on  his  way  out." 

"Yes,  Doctor.     I  shall  always  remember  him." 


346  RED  AND  BLACK 

"And  he,  you,  evidently.  A  number  of  weeks  ago  he 
heard  me  say  that  I  intended  to  take  this  trip,  and  he 
figured  it  out  that  I  might  meet  you.  So  he  sent  you 
this  message,  with  instructions  to  me  to  deliver  it  somehow 
or  answer  to  him."  He  smiled  over  the  recollection  as  he 
drew  out  a  small  paper.  "Dyer  could  get  away  with 
more  impudence — or  what  would  be  called  that  from  any 
body  else — than  any  boy  I  ever  saw.  But  it  wasn't  really 
that — it  was  his  beautiful  faith  that  everybody  was  on  his 
side,  including  the  Almighty.  He  had  an  unshakeable 
and  touching  belief  that  God  would  see  him  through 
everything  and  permit  him  to  render  some  big  service 
before  he  was  through.  And  since  he  hadn't  had  his 
chance  to  do  that  yet,  it  followed  as  the  night  the  day 
that  he  must  get  back  to  the  Front  and  do  it.  I  admit 
I  came  to  feel  much  the  same  way  about  him  myself. 
And  when  he  gave  me  this  message  I  understood  that  it 
must  be  delivered  at  any  cost.  So — without  any  cost  at 
all — here  it  is." 

Jane  received  the  folded  paper  with  a  curious  sense  of 
its  importance,  though  it  came  from  the  most  obscure 
young  private  in  the  A.  E.  F.  With  a  word  of  apology 
she  opened  it,  feeling  that  Doctor  Leaver  would  like  to 
know  something  of  its  contents,  if  they  were  communi 
cable.  After  a  moment  during  which  she  struggled  with 
and  conquered  a  big  lump  in  her  throat,  she  handed  it  to 
him.  He  read  it  with  a  moved  face,  and  gave  it  back  with 
the  comment: 

"That's  great — that's  simply  great!  Thank  you  for 
letting  me  see." 

The  message  was  written  in  a  cramped,  boyishly  un 
certain  hand,  but  there  was  nothing  uncertain  about  the 
wording  of  it: 


A  HAPPY  WARRIOR  347 

Miss  RAY, 

DEAR  FRIEND: 

This  is  to  tell  you  that  it  took  longer  than  I  expected  to  get  me 
fixed  up  again  but  I  am  all  O.  K.  now  and  never  better  and  I  am 
off  for  the  place  where  things  is  doing.  You  know  from  what  I 
said  that  I  think  there  is  something  for  me  to  do  that  nobody 
else  could  and  I  am  going  to  do  it  if  God  lets  me.  Not  that  I 
think  I  am  a  Daniel  but  there  sure  is  lions  and  just  now  they  seem 
to  be  roaring  pretty  loud  and  I  can't  get  there  too  soon.  I  want 
to  ask  you  to  pray  for  me  not  that  I  won't  be  afraid  for  I  am  not 
afraid  but  that  I'll  be  let  to  do  something  worth  coming  over  here 
for.  The  preacher  Mr.  Black  said  that  God  always  hears  if  we 
have  anything  to  say  to  Him  and  I  think  He  would  hear  you 
speshally — because  anybody  would.  This  leaves  me  well  and 
hoping  you  are  the  same.  Your  friend, 

PRIVATE  ENOS  DYER. 

"I  suppose  you  have  no  idea  where  he  is  now,"  Jane 
said,  as  she  carefully  put  away  the  paper. 

"Yes,  I  have  an  idea."  The  surgeon  was  looking  off 
now  into  the  night  outside.  Gusts  of  wind  blew  the  rain 
into  his  face,  but  he  seemed  to  welcome  its  refreshing  touch. 
"I  had  a  word  with  a  young  artilleryman  just  now  on 
whom  I  operated  yesterday  for  a  smashed  elbow  joint. 
He  doesn't  mind  that  in  the  least,  but  the  thing  he  does 
mind  is  that  he's  sure  his  'buddy,'  as  he  calls  him,  'Enie 

Dyer/  was  in  that  battalion  of  the nth  Division  that 

has  just  been  wiped  out.  It  had  taken  the  objective  it 
was  sent  for,  and  this  boy  has  had  to  help  shell  the 
position  where  Dyer  would  have  been  if  the  battalion 
hadn't  been  sacrificed.  His  idea  is  that  it  was  a  perhaps 
inevitable  sacrifice,  but  the  thought  that  he  might  have 
been  pouring  lead  and  steel  in  on  his  friend,  still  alive  and 
hiding  in  a  shell-hole,  has  got  on  his  nerves  till  he's  all  in 
pieces.  He's  a  giant  physically,  but  Dyer  is  twice  his  size, 
nevertheless." 


348  RED  AND  BLACK 

"I'll  find  him,"  said  Jane.  She  felt  suddenly  weak  with 
dread.  She  had  caught  rumours  before  now  of  the  battalion 
which  had  not  been  heard  from  and  which  seemed  to  have 
vanished  from  the  earth,  but  she  had  no  idea  that  any  one 
in  whom  she  was  especially  interested  had  been  among 
that  ill-fated  number.  She  had  known  young  Dyer  but 
a  few  days,  yet  he  had  made  upon  her  one  of  the  most 
deeply  disturbing  impressions  of  her  experience.  His  own 
personality,  reinforced  by  her  knowledge  that  he  owed 
this  simple  trust  of  his  to  Robert  Black,  had  combined  to 
make  the  thought  of  him  a  poignant  one.  As  she  went 
back  to  her  work  she  realized  that  Dyer  was  not  to 
be  out  of  her  mind  until  the  question  of  his  whereabouts 
was  settled — if  it  could  be  settled. 

And  meanwhile — what  was  it  that  he  had  bade  her  do 
for  him  ? 

It  was  three  days  later  that  the  rumour  reached  the 
Hospital  that  the  battalion  which  had  been  supposed  to 
be  wiped  out  had  been  heard  from.  Two  runners  had 
come  through  the  enemy's  lines,  it  was  said,  and  had 
brought  word  that  what  was  left  of  the  four  companies 
which  formed  the  battalion  was  under  constant  barrage 
fire  from  the  guns  of  its  own  side.  The  barrage  had  been 
stopped,  rescue  was  on  its  way;  the  daring  men  who  had 
brought  the  word  would  shortly  be  here  to  be  fixed  up — 
they  had  been  completely  exhausted  when  they  arrived. 

The  artilleryman  sat  up  in  bed.  He  waved  his  good 
right  arm  and  shouted,  before  anybody  could  restrain 
him: 

"I'll  bet  Enie  Dyer's  one  of  'em!  I'll  bet  he's  one  of 
'em!  Darn  his  hide,  he'd  get  through  hell  itself  if  he 
started  to.  He'd  never  know  when  he  was  beat — he  never 


A  HAPPY  WARRIOR  349 

did.  He  wouldn't  know  it  if  a  seventy-five  hit  him — 
he'd  tell  it  he  had  to  be  gettin'  along  where  he  was  goin', 
and  he'd  pull  it  out  and  leave  it  layin'  where  'twas!  I 
vum " 

A  burst  of  joyous  laughter  from  all  down  the  ward 
greeted  this  triumph  of  the  imagination.  Then  Jane  laid 
him  gently  down  upon  his  back  again — he  had  other  in 
juries  than  the  smashed  elbow  joint,  and  sitting  up 
wouldn't  do  for  him  yet.  In  his  ear  she  whispered,  "I 
think  it's  Enie  too,  somehow.  But  we  mustn't  be  too 
sure  yet.  Just  try  to  wait  quietly." 

"Yes,  ma'am."  He  owned  her  supremacy  as  they  all 
did.  But  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours  he  hardly 
rested  and  never  slept.  Jane  shared  his  vigil,  while  re 
ports  continued  to  arrive,  some  adding  to  their  confidence, 
others  taking  it  away.  Finally,  they  knew  that  it  was 
all  true  and  the  lost  was  found — what  there  was  left  of  it. 

And  then  came  Enos  Dyer,  and  the  Polish  boy  who  had 
been  his  companion.  Five  days  without  food  before  start 
ing,  eight  hours  on  the  trip,  exhausted  but  game,  they 
were  brought  back  to  the  Field  Hospital  for  the  rest  that 
was  imperative,  and  the  treatment  of  minor  injuries. 
That  night  Jane  sat  beside  Dyer's  bed  and  listened  to  his 
account,  because  he  was  too  happy  to  be  suppressed  until 
he  had  told  her  the  outlines.  She  looked  at  his  thin, 
exalted  face,  and  saw  the  lines  and  hollows  that  hunger 
and  fatigue  had  brought  there,  but  saw  still  more  clearly 
the  triumph  of  spirit  over  body.  She  had  managed  that 
he  should  lie  in  a  bed  next  his  big  friend,  and  between  the 
reunited  pair  she  felt  like  a  happy  warrior  herself. 

"Why,  it  was  the  thing,  to  start  in  the  day  time," 
insisted  Enos,  in  reply  to  big  Johnny's  comment  on  the 
foolhardiness  of  this  choice.  "All  the  runners  that  tried 


350  RED  AND  BLACK 

it  before  in  the  night  got  killed  or  wounded,  and  somebody'd 
got  to  try  the  thing  a  different  way.  I  figgered  out 
that  in  the  day  time  when  there  ain't  any  scrap  on,  the 
enemy's  always  half  asleep,  they're  so  sure  they  can  see 
everything  that's  goin'  on.  Nights  everybody  on  both 
sides  is  keyed  up  like  jack-rabbits,  expectin'  trouble. 
But  day  times — why  they's  nothin*  to  it — if  they  don't 
happen  to  see  you." 

Johnny  chuckled:  "No,  if  they  don't!" 

"You  see,"  Enos  went  on,  "we  made  things  safe  by 
leavin'  behind  our  helmets  and  gas  masks  and  rifles " 

"Leavin'  'em  behind!     Why,  you'd  need  'em." 

"Not  much  we  didn't.  Tin  hats  hit  on  stones  and  ring 
out,  when  you're  crawlin',  and  rifles  and  masks  get  in  your 
way.  One  officer  stopped  us,  though,  and  told  us  to  go 
back  and  get  'em.  I  didn't  want  to,  so  I  went  back  to  the 
Major  and  told  him  so.  He  said,  'Don't  you  want  'em?' 
And  I  said,  'No,  sir,  we  don't,'  and  he  laughed  and  said, 
'All  right,  go  as  you  like.'  He  was  the  same  that  told  me 
when  I  and  Stanislaus  asked  to  go  that  'if  we  got  through 

we  was  to '  '//  we  get  through '  I  says  to  him — 

'we're  goin*  to  get  through!  If  God  could  take  care  of 
Daniel  in  that  lions'  den,  I  guess  He  can  of  us.'  He  looked 
at  me  a  minute,  and  then  he  says;  'You'll  make  it.'" 
Enos  laughed  gleefully.  "Nothin'  like  standin'  up  to 
an  officer,"  he  said,  by  way  of  throwing  a  side-light  on 
the  affair.  Jane  thought  of  Doctor  Leaver,  and  wished 
he  had  not  gone  back  to  his  Base  Hospital,  and  could  hear. 

"Well,  that's  about  all  there  was  to  it. — Gee,  but  this 
pillow  does  feel  good  under  a  fellow's  head! — We  crawled 
down  the  hill,  and  across  the  valley,  and  we  crossed  a 
road  three  times,  right  under  them  Fritzies'  noses,  and 
they  never  see  us.  Quite  a  lot  of  times  I  thought  they 


A  HAPPY  WARRIOR  351 

sure  had  seen  us,  and  was  comin*  straight  for  us,  but  we 
laid  low,  and  every  time  they'd  turn  off  before  they  got 

to  us,  just  as  if "  his  eyes  met  Jane's  and  looked 

straight  into  them — "a  hand  was  holdin'  back  the  lions. 
I  knew  then  just  as  sure  that  we'd  get  through.  We 
crossed  three  wire  entanglements,  and  two  German 
trenches,  and  we  run  right  onto  a  sniper's  post,  only  the 
sniper  wasn't  there — gone  off  for  water  or  something  not 
thinkin'  there  was  anythin'  to  snipe  in  broad  daylight. 
About  dark  it  begun  to  rain — and  it  got  black  as  a  pocketl 
We  was  soaked  through.  But  we  kep'  a-comin',  and 
quite  awhile  after  dark  we  got  near  our  own  lines." 

He  paused  and  drew  a  long  breath.  Jane  laid  an  ex 
ploring  finger  on  his  pulse,  but  it  was  not  unduly  excited 
or  more  weak  than  was  safe.  Johnny,  propping  himself 
upon  his  uninjured  elbow,  had  to  be  made  to  lie  down 
again. 

"Gee!"  muttered  the  artilleryman,  "that  was  about 
the  worst  of  all.  They  keep  an  awful  lookout,  our  fellows 
do.  Wonder  they  didn't  shoot  you." 

"We  thought  of  that,"  admitted  Enos  mildly,  "so  we 
decided  to  keep  a  talkin'  as  we  come  near,  so  they  could 
hear  we  was  English-speakin'.  So  we  did.  The  outpost 
heard  us  and  challenged  us,  and  we  told  our  story.  They 
was  bound  to  make  sure  we  wasn't  spies,  so  they  kep^ 
askin'  us  questions.  By  and  by  they  called  the  cor 
poral  of  the  guard,  and  after  he'd  asked  us  forty-'leven 
more  questions  he  took  us  back  to  Regimental  Head 
quarters,  and  there  was  some  officers  there  that  I'd  see 
before.  I  was  surprised  that  they  remembered  me.  but 
they  did." — Jane  was  not  surprised  to  hear  this. — "And 
then,  well,  there  wasn't  anything  too  good  for  us.  They 
had  some  chow  heated  up  for  us,  and  they  told  us  we  could 


352  RED  AND  BLACK 

have  the  best  there  was  to  sleep  on — and  we  did — only 
the  best  there  was  was  the  floor,'*  he  explained  with  a 
laugh.  "This  bed  certainly  feels  good,"  he  added. 

That  was  his  whole  story  of  an  exploit  which  had  saved 
a  battalion.  Seven  hundred  men  had  gone  forth  to  take 
the  objective,  two  hundred  and  twenty-seven  of  them  had 
been  able  to  walk  out,  when  the  rescue  came.  The 
chances  of  a  runner  getting  through  the  enemy  lines  by 
which  the  men  were  surrounded  had  been  desperate  ones, 
and  Dyer  had  taken  them  and  had  come  through  without  a 
hair  of  his  head  having  been  touched. 

He  turned  to  Jane,  lowering  his  voice.  "Did  you  ever 
get  my  letter  I  sent  you?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  Enos.     Doctor  Leaver  brought  it  to  me." 

"I  knew  it,"  he  said  triumphantly.  "I  knew  you  was 
prayin'  for  me  to  get  my  chance,  or  I  wouldn't  have  got 
it  so  easy." 

Jane's  eyes  fell  before  his. 

"You  did  do  what  I  asked,  didn't  you  ?"  he  insisted,  con 
fidently. 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,  I  didn't  pray  for  that, 
Enos.  All  I  could  think  of  was  that  you  might  come 
through  safely." 

"And  that  was  what  you  prayed  for?" 

She  nodded.  ^ 

"Why,  that  wasn't  the  big  thing!"  he  cried,  under  his 
breath.  "Except,  of  course — if  us  fellows  didn't  get 
through  the  rest  of  'em  wouldn't.  Oh,  yes,  of  course, 
that  was  what  you  did  have  to  pray  for,  and  I'm  glad 
you  did.  It's  wonderful  how  it  works  out,  things  like 
that!" 

She  stole  away  presently,  forbidding  either  of  the  two 
friends  to  exchange  any  further  talk  that  night.  The 


A  HAPPY  WARRIOR  353 

place  was  a  little  quieter  to-night,  though  by  to-morrow 
the  wounded  from  the  rescued  battalion  would  be  brought 
in  and  everything  would  speed  up  again.  She  went  out 
side  the  hospital  and  found  a  sheltered  corner  where  in  the 
darkness  she  could  be  alone — until  somebody  should  come 
by.  The  rain  had  stopped,  the  clouds  had  broken  away; 
a  myriad  stars  filled  the  sky. 

After  a  time  she  took  from  her  pocket  her  pen  and  a 
letter  blank,  and  coming  around  where  she  could  get  a 
faint  light  from  a  window  upon  her  paper  slowly  wrote 
these  words,  afterwards  folding  and  sealing  the  letter  and 
addressing  it. 

I  know,  at  last,  that  you  are  right.  I  don't  understand  it  yet — 
but  I  believe  it.  Somebody  does  hear — and  it  is  possible  to  speak 
to  Him.  I  have  learned  the  way  through  a  boy  from  the  "hill" 
where  we  went  that  last  Sunday  afternoon.  He  says  you  taught 
him — and  now  he  has  taught  me.  You  were  right  when  you 
said  that  I  would  find  it  all  around  me  here.  I  have,  but  it  took 
this  dear,  wise  boy  to  make  it  real  to  me — as  you  made  it  real 
to  him.  So — it  has  come  through  you  after  all,  and  I  am  very, 
very  glad  of  that. 

God  keep  you  safe,  Robert  Black, — I  pray  for  it  on  my  knees. 

JANE. 

It  was  two  days  afterward  that  a  despatch  reached  her 
from  Dr.  John  Leaver,  back  at  his  Base  Hospital,  near 
Paris. 

Operated  to-day  Chaplain  Black nth  Regiment  nth 

Division,  severe  shrapnel  wounds  shoulder  and  thigh.     Doing  well. 

LEAVER. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
A  PEAL  OF  BELLS 

BY  THE  time  that  a  certain  note  of  a  few  lines,  written 
outside  a  Field  Hospital  window  in  France,  had 
reached  a  certain  Base  Hospital,  many  miles  away,  Robert 
Black  was  able  to  open  his  own  mail,  for  a  fortnight  had 
gone  by.  He  was  so  fortunate  as  to  have  two  other  letters 
in  this  mail,  a  happening  which  of  itself  would  have 
made  the  rainy  day  much  less  dismal.  But  to  find  this 
particular  handwriting  upon  the  third  envelope  was 
enough  to  flood  the  ward  with  light — for  him,  though  to 
some  others,  near  him,  who  had  had  no  letters,  it  re 
mained  a  sombre  place,  as  before. 

He  kept  this  third  letter  unopened  till  the  morning 
dressings  were  over,  the  carts  of  surgical  supplies  had 
ceased  to  move  through  the  ward,  and  the  surgeons  and 
nurses  had  left  behind  them  patients  soothed  and  made 
comfortable  and  ready  for  the  late  morning  nap  which  fol 
lowed  naturally  upon  the  pain  and  fatigue  of  the  dressings. 
Then,  when  his  neighbours  in  the  beds  on  either  side  were 
no  longer  observant,  Black  drew  out  the  single  sheet,  feeling 
an  instant  sense  of  disappointment  that  the  lines  were  so 
few.  Then — he  read  them,  and  his  regret  was  changed 
in  an  instant  to  a  joy  so  profound  that  he  could  only  lie 
drawing  deep  breaths  of  emotion,  as  he  stared  out  of  a 
near-by  window  at  tossing  tree  tops  dripping  with  rain, 

354 


A  PEAL  OF  BELLS  355 

against  the  sky  of  lead.     The  sky  for  him,  had  opened, 
and  let  through  a  sea  of  glory. 

Again  and  again,  after  a  little,  his  eager  eyes  re-read  the 
words,  so  few,  yet  so  full  of  meaning.  Among  them  cer 
tain  lines  stood  out: 


I  know,  at  last,  that  you  are  right.  I  don't  understand  it 
yet — but  I  believe  it.  Somebody  does  hear — and  it  is  possible 

to  speak  to  Him You  were  right  when  you  said  that  I  would 

find  it  all  around  me  here It  took  this  dear,  wise  boy  to 

make  it  real  to  me — as  you  made  it  real  to  him So — it  has 

come  through  you,  after  all God  keep  you  safe,  Robert 

Black — I  pray  for  it  on  my  knees. 

JANE. 

It  was  well  for  him  that  this  stimulus  came  when  it  did, 
for  within  twenty-four  hours  arrived  another  message  of 
the  sort  which  is  not  good  for  convalescents.  Gary  Ray 
sent  a  scrawl  of  a  letter  from  some  post  upon  the  Front, 
which  was  three  weeks  in  getting  through,  so  that  the  news 
it  contained  was  already  old.  Black  read  it,  and  then 
turned  upon  his  pillow  and  hid  his  face  in  his  arm.  When 
his  fellow  patients  saw  that  face  again,  though  it  was  com 
posed,  and  the  Chaplain's  manner  was  as  they  had  known 
it  all  along,  not  a  man  but  understood  that  he  had  had  a 
heavy  blow.  By  and  by  he  asked  for  his  writing  tablet 
and  pen,  and  they  saw  him  slowly  write  a  short  letter. 
These  were  the  words  he  wrote : 

MY  DEAR  MR.  AND  MRS.  LoCKHART: 

I  wish  that  this  word  I  send  you  might  be  the  first  to  reach  you, 
that  you  might  receive  the  news  of  your  boy  from  the  hand  of 
a  friend.  But  whether  the  official  word  comes  first  or  not,  you 
will  be  glad  to  have  me  tell  you  all  I  know — which  comes  to  me 
through  Gary  Ray,  and  which  he  says  has  been  absolutely  verified.. 


356  RED  AND  BLACK 

Tom's  division  was  one  sent  forward  to  replace  the  remnant 
of  two  British  and  French  divisions  which  had  been  long  in  the 
field.  The  men  went  into  position  to  hold  the  line  under  the 
hottest  possible  machine-gun  fire.  Tom's  battalion  lost  all  its 
officers  except  himself  and  a  second  lieutenant,  and  these  two 
were  forced  to  take  command.  They  succeeded  in  holding  the 
position  for  many  hours  and  until  relief  came,  thus  saving  the  day 
in  that  sector,  and  causing  the  final  retirement  of  the  enemy. 
The  second  lieutenant,  Fisher,  himself  severely  wounded,  told 
Cary  Ray  that  "Lockhart  was  a  regular  bull-dog  for  hanging  on, 
nothing  could  make  him  turn  back.  His  men  would  go  anywhere 
he  told  them  to,  for  he  always  went  with  them — and  went  first." 
When  he  fell  it  was  under  a  rain  of  gun-fire,  and  there  could  not 
have  been  an  instant's  survival. 

Though  you  have  prayed  many  prayers  for  your  boy,  and  they 
have  been  answered  differently  from  the  way  in  which  you  would 
have  had  them,  I  believe  your  faith  in  God  is  no  less  than  before. 
When  Tom  and  his  father  meet  again,  some  day,  and  talk  it  over, 
it  will  all  be  clear  to  that  father  why  his  boy  went  home  ahead 
of  him.  But  Tom  knows — now;  I'm  very  sure  of  that. 

So,  dear  friends,  you  have  a  glorious  memory  to  comfort  you. 
The  gold  star  you  will  wear  will  be  the  highest  honour  that  can 
come  to  you.  Nothing  that  Tom  could  have  accomplished  in  a 
long  life  of  effort  could  so  crown  that  life  with  imperishable 
beauty,  or  so  make  it  immortal.  I  rejoice  with  you,  for  the  lad 
was  my  dear  friend,  and  I  can  never  forget  him. 

Faithfully    yours, 

ROBERT  BLACK. 

Late  that  night,  when  all  was  quiet  in  the  ward,  he  wrote 
this  same  news  to  Jane.  But  at  the  end  of  his  letter  came 
other  words,  of  such  joy  and  thanksgiving  as  a  man  can 
write  only  when  his  heart  is  very  full. 

What  you  tell  me  of  yourself  goes  to  my  deepest  heart,  as  you 
must  well  know.  I  knew  it  would  come — it  had  to  come.  What 
it  means  to  me  I  can  tell  you  only  when  I  see  you,  face  to  face. 
The  thought  of  that  hour  shakes  me  through  and  through. 


A  PEAL  OF  BELLS  357 

On  the  nth  of  November,  at  half  after  ten  in  the  morn 
ing,  Jane  was  in  one  of  the  larger  towns  which  had  been 
swept  by  devastating  fires  at  one  time  or  another  through 
out  the  entire  period  of  the  war.  She  had  been  sent  with 
a  certain  Brigadier  General  who  had  been  under  her  care 
at  the  Field  Hospital,  and  who  had  obtained  for  her  a 
short  leave  that  she  might  accompany  him  and  see  for 
herself  something  of  this  famous  region.  At  the  time 
of  their  arrival  shells  had  again  unexpectedly  begun  pour 
ing  in  upon  the  town,  though  the  rumour  of  the  coming 
armistice  was  persistent,  and  even  the  hour  was  given. 

"I  can't  let  you  go  any  nearer,"  General  Lewiston  said 
to  Jane,  as  his  car  approached  the  town,  and  halted  at  his 
order,  "much  as  I  want  you  to  be  there  when  the  guns 
cease  firing.  They're  evidently  going  to  keep  it  as  hot 
here  as  they  know  how,  up  to  the  very  last  minute." 

"Oh,  but  you  must  let  me  stay,"  Jane  begged.  "I'm 
not  in  the  least  afraid,  and  I'd  give  all  I  possess  to  be  ex 
actly  there,  when  the  hour  comes." 

"I'll  leave  you  here,  in  care  of  Lieutenant  Ferguson,  and 
send  back  for  you  when  it's  over,"  the  General  offered. 

"Please,  take  me  in  with  you.  I've  been  under  fire, 
before.  We  were  bombed  three  times  in  hospital,  you 
know." 

"Yes,  but  this  is  different,  Miss  Ray.  I'm  responsible 
for  you  now." 

"Not  a  bit,  General.  It's  my  responsibility,  if  I  ask 
it— as  I  do." 

He  couldn't  resist  her,  or  that  sweet  sturdiness  of  hers 
which  made  her  seem  unlike  the  women  for  whom  a  man 
had  to  be  "responsible."  So  he  bade  his  chauffeur  drive 
on.  Thus  it  came  about  that  Jane  had  her  wish  and  was 
actually  in  this  most  noteworthy  of  French  towns  when, 


358  RED  AND  BLACK 

at  the  close  of  that  last  hour  of  roaring  guns  and  bursting 
shells,  it  all  came  to  an  end,  as  one  graphic  account  put  it, 
"as  though  God  Himself  had  dropped  a  wet  blanket 
over  the  crackling  flames  of  hell." 

So,  after  that  first  breathless  stillness  which  succeeded 
upon  the  din,  Jane  heard  that  which  she  could  never 
afterward  forget — nor  could  any  other  who  heard  it.  From 
the  high  tower  which  had  come  through  scatheless  above 
the  otherwise  ruined  cathedral,  rang  out  a  great  peal  of 
bells.  The  cathedral  doors  were  opened,  and  hundreds  of 
soldiers  surged  in.  Jane  saw  them  go,  and  called  General 
Lewiston's  attention. 

"Mayn't  we  follow?"  she  urged,  and  the  officer  nodded. 
They  got  out  of  the  car  and  crossed  the  space  and  went  in 
at  the  great  battered  doors  in  the  roofless  walls  which  still 
stood  to  protect  the  sacred  enclosure.  As  they  went  in 
they  heard  the  notes  of  "Praise  God  from  whom  all 
blessings  flow,"  break  from  a  young  tenor  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  crowd,  and  heard  it  taken  up  and  grow  and 
swell  till  it  seemed  to  lift  above  the  broken  walls  to  the 
very  sky.  And  then  they  saw  the  wonderful  thing 
which  followed.  If,  before  this  hour,  Jane  by  her  own 
experience  had  not  been  brought  to  her  knees,  surely  she 
must  have  fallen  upon  them  now — as  she  did,  with  the 
General  beside  her  on  one  side  and  the  Lieutenant  on  the 
other,  both  with  bared  heads.  For  all  those  men  be 
fore  her,  British  and  French  and  Mohammedan  and 
Jew,  had  now  dropped  to  their  knees,  and  led  by  an 
unknown  man  with  a  Red  Triangle  on  his  sleeve  who 
had  lifted  his  arms  to  them  as  a  signal  were  devoutly 
saying  together  the  words  of  the  Lord's  Prayer.  Such  a 
deep,  whole-hearted  sound  it  was  which  came  from  all 
those  brawny  throats  as  Jane  had  never  heard  before. 


A  PEAL  OF  BELLS  359 

She  had  heard  men  cheer — she  had  heard  them  sing — 
she  had  never  heard  men  pray  together,  regardless  of  sect 
or  creed,  as  she  heard  them  now.  And  suddenly  she 
realized  what  she  had  never  understood  before,  that  it  is 
not  one  man  here  or  there  who  believes  that  it  is  of  use  to 
say  "Our  Father,"  but  that  it  is  the  great,  all  but  universal 
cry  from  every  heart  in  time  of  stress.  The  armistice  was 
signed,  the  guns  had  ceased — it  was  the  first  deep  instinct 
of  these  men  of  every  creed  to  speak  their  gratitude  to 
high  Heaven. 

There  was  singing  again  then — glorious  singing  of  na 
tional  anthems,  British  and  French  and  American. 
Jane's  voice  joined  the  General's  and  the  Lieutenant's 
and  the  three  looked  at  one  another.  The  General's  eyes 
were  wet,  and  the  Lieutenant's  lips  were  trembling,  while 
Jane  frankly  wiped  the  streaming  tears  away  as  she  smiled 
into  the  two  faces,  which  smiled  understandingly  back. 
And  presently  they  were  out  and  away  again,  and  the 
General  was  saying  to  Jane,  "I'm  glad  you  had  your  way, 
Miss  Ray,  since  you  didn't  get  hurt,  for  you've  seen  to-day 
what  must  almost  have  paid  you  for  all  you  have  spent 
since  you  came  over." 

"I'm  paid  a  thousand  times,"  she  answered,  and  so  she 
felt  about  it. 

Things  happened  rapidly  now.  There  was  plenty  of 
work  still  for  the  hospitals,  but  it  was  of  a  different  sort. 
No  longer  did  the  ambulances  bring  to  Jane  the  freshly 
wounded.  She  was  sent  back  to  a  Base  Hospital,  where 
were  the  cases  which  needed  long  care  before  they  could 
be  discharged.  She  had  had  more  than  one  letter  from 
Robert  Black  urging  her  to  keep  in  close  touch  with  him, 
before  the  one  came  which  said  that  he  was  soon  to  be  sent 
home.  He  asked  if  it  would  be  possible  for  her  to  get 


360  RED  AND  BLACK 

kave  and  come  to  London,  where  the  final  days  of  his 
convalescence  were  to  be  spent.  He  was  walking  about 
now,  he  said,  and — what  it  would  be  to  walk  down  certain 
streets  with  her!  He  added  other  statements  calculated 
to  have  their  effect  upon  her,  if  only  to  make  her  under 
stand  how  very  much  he  wanted  to  see  her. 

It  was  not  easy  to  bring  about,  but  at  length  she  ob 
tained  a  four  days'  leave,  and  through  the  influence  of 
Doctor  Leaver  secured  the  difficult  permission  to  cross 
the  Channel  on  one  of  the  crowded  boats.  An  early 
December  night  saw  her  making  the  crossing,  the  wind 
and  spray  stinging  her  face  into  brilliant  colour,  her  big 
coat-collar  turned  well  up  about  her  throat,  her  eyes  set 
straight  ahead  toward  the  English  coast.  It  was  almost 
sixteen  months  since  she  had  left  England  on  her  way 
to  France — sixteen  months  of  the  hardest  work  she  had 
ever  dreamed  of  doing — and  the  happiest.  Not  one  hard 
hour  would  she  take  back — not  one! 

Dover,  and  many  delayed  hours  to  London,  with  post 
war  conditions,  crowded  trains,  upset  schedules — and 
always  the  wounded  and  crippled  everywhere,  that  she 
might  not  for  a  minute  forget.  Then,  at  last,  Charing 
Cross  Station,  and  the  lights  of  the  great  city,  no  longer 
obscured  because  of  enemy  air-raids.  As  Jane  came 
out  upon  the  street  she  drew  a  deep  breath  of  content. 
She  had  been  several  times  in  London,  and  knew  her  way 
about.  It  was  not  far  to  the  house  where  she  was  ex 
pected,  but  she  had  not  been  met  because  it  had  been 
impossible  to  know  beforehand  just  when  she  might  get  in. 
The  days  of  making  careful  consultation  of  railway  sched 
ules  and  then  wiring  an  expectant  friend  the  hour  and 
minute  of  one's  intended  arrival  were  long  gone  by — 
and  had  not  yet  come  again. 


A  PEAL  OF  BELLS  361 

She  was  keyed  to  a  high  pitch  of  expectation  during 
every  moment  of  that  walk.  She  was  so  near  now — so 
near!  She  was  actually  10- the  same  great  city.  It  was 
almost  unbelievable,  but  it  was  true.  There  was  a 
chance — it  couldn't  be  more  than  the  millionth  part  of 
one,  but  it  was  a  chance — that  at  any  moment  she  might 
turn  a  corner  and  see  coming  toward  her  the  tall  figure 
which  she  had  last  seen  a  year  ago  in  August.  How 
would  he  look?  What  would  he  say?  Would  he  be — 
different?  Oh,  he  must  be  different!  He  couldn't 
have  been  through  it  all  and  not  have  suffered  some 
change.  But — she  knew  as  well  as  she  knew  anything 
in  the  world  that  in  the  way  that  mattered  most  to  her 
he  would  not  be  different,  he  would  be  absolutely  the  same. 
As  for  herself,  was  she  not  different  too?  And  was  she 
not — absolutely  the  same?  Oh,  no — oh,  no!  With  the 
development  of  her  experience  and  the  growth  of  her  sacri 
fice  had  not  the  thing  within  her  heart  and  spirit  which 
was  his  become  a  thousand  times  more  his?  No  doubt 
of  that.  Then — might  not  that  which  he  had  for  her 
have  been  augmented  too?  The  thought  was  one  she  had 
to  put  away  from  her.  Enough,  if  he  could  but  give  her 
so  much  of  his  heart  as  he  had  given  before.  That  of  it 
self,  she  thought,  would  be  all  that  she  could  bear — to 
day. 

The  old  green  door  with  the  shining  brass  knocker  she 
so  well  remembered  came  into  view  as  she  turned  into  the 
quaint  little  street  not  far  from  Westminster  Abbey  where 
lived  her  English  friend.  On  the  first  of  her  visits  to 
England,  in  search  of  rare  objects  for  her  shop,  she  had 
met  Miss  Stoughton,  an  Englishwoman  in  the  late  thir 
ties,  who  had  an  established  reputation  as  a  connoisseur 
and  collector  of  rare  antiques.  Business  dealings  with 


362  RED  AND  BLACK 

this  woman  had  resulted  in  a  permanent  friendship  be 
tween  the  two.  Miss  Stoughton  was  separated  from  her 
family,  all  of  whom  were  strongly  opposed  to  her  inde 
pendent  establishment  in  business,  a  departure  from  all 
the  family  traditions  of  birth  and  education.  She  had 
chosen  nevertheless  to  live  her  own  life,  and  when  the 
Great  War  came  to  England  she  had  a  well  developed 
business  experience  to  back  her  in  giving  her  services  to 
her  country.  At  the  moment  when  Jane  came  to  her  she 
had  just  returned  to  the  little  house,  after  a  long  period  of 
absence. 

The  green  door  opened  at  the  first  fall  of  the  knocker, 
and  the  tall  Englishwoman  herself  welcomed  Jane  with 
hearty  hospitality. 

"My  dear — this  is  most  awfully  jolly — to  see  you  again! 
How  well  you  are  looking!  A  trifle  thin,  perhaps — and  no 
wonder — but  such  a  fine  colour!  Come  in — come  in! 
The  house  is  still  a  bit  upset,  you  know,  but  you  won't 
mind  that." 

"It  doesn't  look  upset,"  Jane  commented,  after  one 
glance  about  the  little  drawing  room,  where  a  bright  fire 
burned  on  the  diminutive  hearth,  and  a  tea-table  beside 
it  offered  refreshment,  as  if  it  had  been  waiting  for  the 
guest.  "It  looks  just  as  I  remember  it — the  prettiest 
room  I  ever  saw  in  England." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Jane — you  are  the  same  extravagant 
admirer  of  my  simple  things.  But  I  always  appreciated 
your  praise  of  them,  for  you  are  not  only  a  connoisseur 
but  an  artist.  And  you  have  put  aside  all  that  to  do  this 
nursing!  Do  sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it,  while  we 
have  tea.  But  first "  she  interrupted  herself  with  a  ges 
ture — "let  me  not  fail  to  give  my  message — a  most  im 
portant  message.  Morning,  noon,  and  night  for  three 


A  PEAL  OF  BELLS  363 

days  now,  have  I  been  besieged  by  a  tall  Scotsman  in  uni 
form  with  the  cross  of  a  regimental  chaplain.  He  had 
what  I  may  call  a  determined  chin,  and  the  finest  pair  of 
black  eyes  I  ever  saw.  It  seems  he  also  is  expecting  you, 
but  he  fears  you  may  in  some  way  find  it  difficult  to  reach 
him,  or  may  lose  an  instant  of  time  in  doing  so.  He  is 
likely  to  receive  orders  to  sail  for  the  States  at  any  time; 
and  I  gather  from  his  quite  evident  anxiety  that  if  he 
should  be  forced  to  leave  without  having  seen  Miss  Ray 
it  would  be  to  him  a  calamity." 

"It  would  be  one  to  me  too,"  Jane  answered,  with  a 
rising  colour  but  a  steady  meeting  of  her  friend's  quizzical 
look.  "How,  please,  can  I  let  him  know?" 

"A  messenger  waits  within  call,"  Miss  Stoughton  as 
sured  her,  gaily.  "Our  war-time  telephone  service  is  still 
frightfully  crippled,  so  we  provide  ourselves  with  sub 
stitutes.  A  small  boy  is  ready  to  run  post-haste  through 
the  streets  of  London  to  carry  the  news  of  your  arrival  to" 
— she  picked  up  a  card  lying  upon  a  priceless  small  table 
of  an  unbelievable  antiquity  of  which  Jane  had  long  en 
vied  her  the  possession,  and  read  the  name  with  dis 
tinctness — " 'Mr.  Robert  McPherson  Black'  A  very  good 
name,  my  dear,  and  one  which  well  fits  the  man.  I 
should  judge  he  is  accustomed  to  have  his  own  way  in 
most  things,  at  the  same  time  that  an  undoubted  spirit 
of  kindness  looks  out  of  that  somewhat  worn  face  of  his. 
I  will  despatch  the  messenger  at  once.  Shall  we  make  an 
appointment  for  the  evening,  or  are  you  prepared  to  see 
your  friend  within  the  hour?  He  will  most  certainly  re 
turn  with  the  boy  who  goes  for  him — if  he  is  not  already 
on  his  way,  on  the  chance  of  finding  you." 

Jane  came  close  to  her  hostess,  and  laid  her  hands  upon 
her  shoulders.  "Dear  Miss  Stoughton,"  she  said,  "I'm 


364  RED  AND  BLACK 

sure  you  understand.  If  military  orders  weren't  such 
startling  things  and  likely  to  arrive  sooner  than  one  ex 
pects  them,  I  would  put  Mr.  Black  off  until  evening 
and  just  have  the  visit  with  you  I  so  much  want.  But — 

"I  do  perfectly  well  understand,"  replied  Miss  Stough- 
ton,  decidedly,  "and  I  should  be  most  awfully  cross  with 
you  if  you  put  off  that  very  fine  man  an  hour  longer  than 
necessary.  He  has  two  service  chevrons  and  two  wound 
stripes  on  his  arm,  and  he  walks  with  a  cane;  I  should  not 
be  in  the  least  surprised  if  within  his  blouse  he  wears  con 
cealed  some  sort  of  decoration.  In  any  case  he  deserves 
every  consideration.  A  chaplain  with  wounds  has  done 
something  besides  read  the  prayer  book  to  his  men  behind 
the  lines." 

She  left  the  room  and  sent  off  her  messenger.  Return 
ing  she  led  Jane  up  the  short  staircase  to  the  tiniest  and 
most  attractive  of  English  guest  rooms. 

"You  see,  though  I  am  not  married  nor  intend  to  be," 
she  said,  with  the  smile  which  made  her  somewhat  plain 
but  noteworthy  face  charming  to  her  guest,  "I  can  quite 
understand  that  you  would  like  a  look  in  the  mirror  before 
the  Chaplain  arrives.  You  have  always  reminded  me  of 
some  smooth-winged  bird,  but  the  smoothest  winged  of 
birds  will  preen  itself  a  good  bit,  and  you  shall  do  the 
same.  Then  come  down,  and  we'll  be  having  tea  when  the 
knocker  claps.  After  that — I  have  an  engagement  at 
my  work-rooms — oh,  yes,  indeed  I  have!  There  is  still 
much  to  be  done  for  our  soldiers  and  yours,  you  know." 

Jane  would  have  been  more — or  less — than  woman  if 
she  had  not  welcomed  the  chance  to  remove  all  possible 
traces  of  her  journey  before  the  sounding  of  that  knocker. 
She  made  haste,  but  none  too  much,  for  Miss  Stoughton's 
predictions  were  truer  than  could  have  been  expected  of 


A  PEAL  OF  BELLS  365 

one  who  must  walk  with  a  cane.  As  the  last  hairpin 
slipped  into  place  the  knocker  fell,  and  Jane  caught 
one  quick  breath  before  she  ran  to  complete  the 
freshening  of  every  feather  in  those  "smooth  wings" 
of  hers. 

"He's  here,  Jane  dear,"  Miss  Stoughton  presently 
announced,  as  she  followed  her  knock  into  the  little  guest 
room.  "I  don't  consider  myself  at  all  susceptible  to 
bachelor  attractions,  but  I  will  admit  that  I  like  this  man's 
face  and  his  nice  manner — and — quite  everything  about 
him.  I'm  going  to  slip  out  now,  and  let  you  come  down  to 
find  him  alone." 

"Oh,  please  stay  and  have  tea  with  us  first,  Miss 
Stoughton — please  do!" 

"I  am  convinced  of  your  sincerity  and  truthfulness," 
replied  Miss  Stoughton,  "in  all  ordinary  matters.  I 
should  not  hesitate  to  buy  from  you  any  rare  curio  in  the 
world  on  your  word  of  honour  alone  that  it  was  authentic. 
But  when  you  urge  me  to  stay  by  my  fireside  and  have 
tea  with  you  and  a  Scottish-American  chaplain  whom  you 
have  not  seen  for  considerably  more  than  a  year,  I  have 
my  doubts,  my  dear,  of  your  good  faith.  I'll  see  that  the 
kettle  is  boiling  for  you,  and  you,  as  you  Americans  say, 
must  'do  the  rest.'" 

Jane  laughed,  her  eyes  glowing.  "Oh,  you're  such  a 
friend,"  she  whispered.  "But  please  do*'t  stay  away 
long.  I  want  you  to  know  Mr.  Black — indeed  I  do.  And 
I'm  so  happy  to  have  your  home  to  meet  him  in." 

"My  home  is  yours — and  his — while  you  stay."  And 
Miss  Stoughton  went  away,  beaming  with  kindness — and 
experiencing  a  touch  of  envy.  What  must  it  be,  she 
thought,  to  look  as  Jane  was  looking — so  fresh  and  lovely 
in  spite  of  her  years  of  business  life  and  these  months  of 


366  RED  AND  BLACK 

work  and  heavy  care — and  then  go  down  to  meet  the  eyes 
of  such  a  man  as  this  who  waited  below  for  her?  Miss 
Stoughton  walked  very  fast  as  she  went  through  the 
crowded  streets;  it  was  best  to  hurry  to  her  work,  and  not 
to  think  too  long  on  what  might  be  taking  place  in  that 
little  drawing  room  of  hers. 

Jane  came  down  so  quietly  that  Robert  Black  would  not 
have  heard  her  if  he  had  not  been  on  the  watch.  When 
she  caught  sight  of  him  he  was  standing  waiting  for  her, 
leaning  upon  the  stout  cane  without  which  he  could  not 
yet  wholly  support  himself.  Her  heart,  at  sight  of  the 
thin  yet  strong  and  undaunted  look  of  his  face,  the  whole 
soldierly  pose  of  him  in  his  uniform,  gave  one  quick  throb 
of  mingled  joy  and  pain,  and  then  went  on  beating  wildly. 
It  couldn't  be  real — it  couldn't — that  after  all  both  had 
been  through  they  had  met  again — that  they  were  both 
here,  in  this  little  London  drawing  room.  Yet  it  was 
real — oh,  thank  God,  it  was  real! 

It  was  dark  outside,  but  lamplight  and  firelight  shone 
on  both  faces  as  the  two  pairs  of  eyes  looked  into  each 
other. 

"It  is  you,"  said  Robert  Black,  after  a  moment,  while 
he  still  held  Jane's  hand.  "I  can't  quite  believe  it — but 
it  is  you.  Will  you  mind  if  I  look  at  you  very  hard,  for  a 
little,  to  make  myself  sure?" 

"I'm  not  so  sure  it  is  you,"  Jane  said.  She  couldn't 
quite  return  that  eager  gaze,  but  she  could  take  stock  of 
his  appearance,  none  the  less,  as  a  woman  may.  "You 
must  have  been  through  very,  very  much." 

"Not  more  than  you.  You  are  not  changed  at  all,  in 
one  way;  but  in  another  way — you  are.  It  is  the  change 
that  I  expected,  but — it  takes  hold  of  me,  just  the  same. 
You  have  seen — what  you  have  seen." 


A  PEAL  OF  BELLS  367 

"Yes.  And  you  have  done — what  you  have  done,"  she 
answered. 

"We  have  very  much  to  tell  each  other,  haven't  we? 
And  so  little  time,  at  the  longest,  to  tell  it  in — till  we  meet 
back  home.  I'm  sorry  to  be  going  first,  again,  but  I 
have  no  choice.  I  wanted  to  wait  for  my  regiment,  but — 
I  suspect  Red's  friend  Doctor  Leaver  of  having  a  hand 
in  these  rigid  orders  to  get  out  of  the  country." 

"Aren't  the  wounds  doing  well?"  she  asked  him,  with 
the  nurse's  straightforwardness  which  was  so  natural 
to  her  now. 

"The  wounds  are  all  right,  but  they  left  a  bit  of  trouble 
behind.  It's  nothing — only  a  matter  of  time.  The  sea 
voyage  alone  will  undoubtedly  work  wonders.  Have  you 
any  idea  when  you  will  be  coming?" 

"Within  a  month  or  two,  I  imagine." 

"Really?"  His  eyes  lighted.  "But — Jane — I  can't  wait 
even  till  then  to  hear  all  that  you  can  tell  me  of  yourself." 

"Come  and  sit  down.     And — may  I  give  you  tea?" 

She  laughed  as  she  said  it,  and  he  laughed  with  her,  a 
note  of  sheer  joy  at  the  absurdity  of  stopping  to  drink  tea, 
when  the  time  was  so  short. 

"Miss  Stoughton  will  expect  us  to  take  it,"  he  admitted. 
"It's  unthinkable  that  we  shouldn't  bother  about  it. 
Can't  we  pour  it  away  somewhere,  where  it  will  do  no 
harm  ?  On  the  fire ? " 

"And  risk  putting  it  out?  I  can  never  remember  how 
small  an  English  fireplace  is,  in  a  house  of  this  size,  till  I 
see  one  again.  Really,  I  don't  think  it  would  do  you  any 
hurt  to  take  the  tea.  You're  not  wholly  strong  yet." 
And  she  quickly  made  and  poured  it. 

"Anything  to  get  it  over,"  he  agreed,  and  took  the  cup 
from  her  hand,  drank,  and  set  it  down.  "Now!"  he  said, 


368  RED  AND  BLACK 

and  sat  down  beside  her.  "Jane,  I  can't  believe  it,  yet. 
I've  been  haunting  Charing  Cross  Station  for  days.  I 
wanted  to  see  you  get  off  the  train.  I  wanted  to  see  you 
before  you  saw  me,  so  I  could  look — and  look — and  look 
at  you.  It's  been  so  long  to  wait.  .  .  .  Well!"  Me 
quite  evidently  laid  sudden  and  firm  restraint  on  his  ov,  n 
emotions — he  didn't  mean  to  let  himself  get  out  of  hand. 
"Tell  me  all  about  it.  You  can't  know  how  I  want  to 
hear." 

"What  will  you  have  first?" 

"Begin  at  the  beginning.  Tell  me — everything  you 
must  know  I  want  to  know  about  you.  How  it  began — 
what  came  first — and  what  followed.  And — most  of  all — 
where  you  are  now." 

They  never  knew  how  the  hours  passed — three  hours — 
while  they  sat  before  the  fire  in  the  little  London  drawing 
room  and  lived  again  the  year  and  more  that  had  separated 
them.  But  when  at  last  Robert  Black,  looking  in  amaze 
ment  at  the  watch  upon  his  wrist,  rose  to  go,  he  was  in  pos 
session  of  that  knowledge  of  Jane's  experience  which  had 
transformed  him  from  a  convalescent  to  a  well  man — or 
so  it  seemed. 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  stood  looking  down 
at  her. 

"I'm  very  certain  that  my  ship  doesn't  sail  before 
Monday,"  he  said,  "or  I  shouldn't  take  the  chance  I  am 
taking.  Jane — I  haven't  said  a  word  of  what  is  nearest 
my  heart.  I  have  a  strange  fancy  that  I  want  to  say  that 

word — to-morrow.     Do  you   remember  that  to-morrow 

• » 

"Sunday.  Indeed  I  do  remember  it.  I  have  thought, 
ever  since  I  knew  that  I  was  coming,  that  if  I  could  just — 
be  in  London  on  a  Sunday — with  you " 


A  PEAL  OF  BELLS  369 

His  smile  was  like  sunshine.  "We'll  go  to  a  service  to 
gether.  Will  you  trust  me  to  choose  the  place?" 

"I  want  you  to." 

"I'll  come  for  you  in  the  morning,"  he  said.  Then  he 
lifted  first  one  of  her  hands  to  his  lips  and  then  the  other, 
said,  "Good  night!"  and  was  gone,  with  a  military  sort 
of  abruptness  that  was  rather  an  emphasis  of  his  former 
self  than  a  change  from  it. 

It  was  easy  to  know  what  he  had  to  say  to  her,  that  he 
had  chosen  to  defer  until  the  following  day.  It  had  been 
in  all  his  manner  to  her;  there  was  no  need  that  he  should 
tell  her  it  was  coming;  it  was  a  most  characteristic  post 
ponement  and  a  highly  significant  one.  Why,  since  he 
could  choose  it,  should  he  not  select  the  great  Day  of  the 
week  on  which  to  say  the  words  which  he  was  not  less 
eager  to  speak  than  she  to  hear?  That  he  should  do  so 
could  but  show  her  how  sacred  an  event  it  was  to  him,  nor 
fail  to  make  it  quite  as  sacred  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IN  HIS  NAME 

MORNING,  and  the  London  streets,  with  Westminster 
lifting  its  stately  heights  above  them.  Jane  had  been 
quite  sure  that  Black  meant  to  take  her  there;  somehow 
there  seemed  no  place  where  they  could  so  much  want  to 
go.  Miss  Stoughton  had  told  her  that  all  through  the 
war  the  great  Abbey,  like  St.  Paul's,  had  been  thronged 
with  the  people  who  had  gone,  on  week  days  as  on  the 
Sabbath,  to  pray,  as  the  new  war-time  phrasing  had  it, 
"for  those  serving  upon  land  and  sea  and  in  the  air." 
And  now,  early  as  they  had  left  the  little  house  almost 
under  the  Abbey's  shadow,  they  found  the  streets  filled 
with  those  who  like  themselves  were  pressing  toward  the 
place  where  since  the  eleventh  of  November  the  nation's 
gratitude  for  victory  was  being  voiced  in  each  prayer  and 
song  which  rose  from  those  sombre  walls. 

So  presently  Jane  found  herself  kneeling  beside  her 
companion,  in  this  place  of  places  which  stood  for  the  very 
heart  of  England.  More  than  once  on  former  visits  to 
London  she  had  entered  at  those  doors,  but  then  it  had 
been  only  as  a  sightseer.  Now,  it  was  as  a  worshipper 
that  she  had  come.  Everything  in  her  life  was  changed, 
since  those  former  visits,  and  she  herself  was  more  changed 
than  all. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  a  great  prayer,  one  not  read  from 
the  printed  page  but  proceeding  straight  from  the  heart  of 

370 


IN  HIS  NAME  371 

one  of  Westminster's  best-loved  administrants,  that  Jane 
felt  a  hand  come  upon  hers.  Fingers  touched  the  fasten 
ing  of  her  glove,  making  known  a  wish.  She  drew  off  the 
glove,  and  the  bare  hands  clasped  and  so  remained  through 
out  the  whole  period  of  kneeling  through  this  and  other 
prayers.  Strangers  were  all  about,  pressed  close  in  the 
rows  of  straight-backed  chairs  which  were  set  even  more 
thickly  this  day  than  there  had  ever  been  need  before, 
yet  Jane  Ray  and  Robert  Black  were  almost  as  much  alone 
in  the  midst  of  the  throng  as  they  could  have  been  any 
where.  It  seemed  to  Jane,  as  that  warm,  firm  hand  held 
hers,  that  life  flowed  to  her  from  it,  so  vital  was  the  sense 
of  union.  Though  not  a  word  had  as  yet  been  said,  the 
touch  of  this  man's  hand  seemed  all  but  to  speak  aloud  to 
her  of  the  love  that  was  only  waiting  the  hour  for  its  ex 
pression.  The  promise  of  that  clasp  was  to  her  only  a 
shade  less  binding  than  the  word  that  he  should  afterward 
speak. 

When  the  service  had  ended  and  they  were  upon  the 
street  again,  Black  did  not  lead  her  home.  Instead  he  took 
her  slowly  about  and  about  the  place  until  the  crowds 
had  left  it.  Then  he  said,  with  a  gesture  toward  the  nave: 

"Shall  we  go  back?  There  will  still  be  people  about, 
but  there's  room  for  all.  I  know  a  corner  where  Fm 
sure  we  can  be  quite  alone.  Somehow,  Jane — I  want  it 
to  be  there.  Don't  you?" 

She  looked  up,  met  such  a  glance  as  told  her  that  the 
hour  had  come,  and  bent  her  head  in  assent. 

"Church  walls  never  meant  so  much  to  me  as  now,"  he 
said,  very  low,  as  they  entered,  "now,  when  the  Church 
has  come  into  her  own  as  never  before.  What  does  it 
mean  when  the  people  crowd  like  that  into  her  doors? 
What  did  it  mean  when  all  those  soldiers,  as  you  told  me, 


372  RED  AND  BLACK 

crowded  into  that  war-ruined  cathedral?  Why,  it  must 
mean  that  the  instinct  to  go  where  the  Name  of  God  is 
most  deeply  associated  with  every  stone  and  window  is 
something  which  is  in  every  man  who  has  ever  heard  song 
and  prayer  ascend  from  such  a  place.  He  can't  do  without 
it — he  can't  do  without  it.  ...  And  no  more  can  we 
— now" 

He  said  no  more,  while  he  led  her  down  the  great  nave, 
nearly  deserted.  People  lingered  here  and  there  in  famous 
corners,  beside  distinguished  name  on  statue  or  tablet,  but 
as  Black  had  said,  there  was  room  for  all  in  that  vast 
space.  And  presently  they  had  come  to  a  spot  behind  a 
stone  column  where  they  were  in  sight  of  none,  and  all 
were  far  away.  Black  took  Jane's  hand  in  his  again,  and 
himself  drew  off  the  glove. 

"Jane/'  he  said,  with  that  in  his  low  tone  which  spoke 
his  feeling,  "it  seemed  to  me  that  I  must  have  our  first 
prayer  together  in  this  place.  I  came  to  Westminster 
and  this  very  spot,  when  our  regiment  was  in  London, 
more  than  a  year  ago.  I  knelt  here,  all  alone,  and  asked 
God,  as  I  had  never  asked  before,  that  He  would  make  Him 
self  real  to  you.  He  has  done  it,  as  you  have  told  me,  and 
I  wanted  to  bring  you  here  and  thank  Him,  on  my  knees. 
Because  now,  we  can  work  together — all  the  rest  of  our 
lives — in  His  Name.  Is  it  so — Jane?" 

She  could  not  look  up.  Great  sobbing  breaths  caught 
her  unawares  and  shook  her  from  head  to  foot.  She  felt 
his  arm  come  about  her,  felt  his  hand  press  her  face  against 
his  shoulder,  and  there,  for  a  few  minutes,  she  cried  her 
heart  out.  He  held  her  silently,  and  with  such  a  tender 
strength  that  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  come  into  some 
wonderful  refuge,  such  as  she  had  never  dreamed  of. 
All  the  tension,  all  the  weariness,  all  the  heart-wrenching 


IN  HIS  NAME  373 

sights  and  sounds  of  the  last  year,  had  come  back  to  her 
in  one  overwhelming  flood  at  his  words,  as  they  had  come 
many  times  before.  But  never,  at  such  times,  could  she 
let  go;  always  she  had  had  to  hold  fast  to  her  courage  and 
her  will,  lest  giving  way  weaken  her  for  the  pressing, 
unremitting  tasks  yet  to  be  done.  In  the  old,  ruined 
cathedral  a  month  before,  she  had  had  all  she  could  do 
to  keep  control  and  not  suffer  a  very  hysteria  of  reaction, 
such  as,  alone  among  those  hundreds  of  men,  would  have 
done  both  herself  and  them  a  harm.  But  now — she 
knew  for  the  first  time  in  her  independent,  resourceful 
life,  what  it  might  mean  to  lean  upon  an  arm  stronger  than 
her  own,  and  to  feel,  as  she  was  momently  feeling  more 
sustainingly,  that  another  life  was  tied  so  closely  to  her 
own  that  neither  sorrow  nor  joy  could  ever  shake  her 
again  that  it  should  not  shake  that  life  too. 

By  and  by  the  storm  passed.  No  longer  did  she  want 
to  weep — a  great  peace  came  upon  her.  She  stood  still 
within  the  right  arm  which  held  her — the  uninjured  arm — 
she  didn't  know  that  he  could  not  lift  that  left  arm  yet  nor 
use  it  beyond  slight  effort.  Now,  at  last,  he  spoke. 

"Will  you  kneel  with  me,  here?  No  one  will  see — and 
if  they  did — everyone  prays  now." 

So  they  knelt,  and  Robert  Black  poured  out  his  heart 
in  a  few  low-spoken  words  which,  if  she  had  still  been  un 
believing  that  they  could  be  heard,  must  have  stirred  her 
to  the  depths.  As  it  was,  convinced  past  all  power  of 
sceptic  argument  to  shake,  Jane's  own  soul  spoke  with  his 
to  the  God  who  had  brought  her  where  she  was. 

With  the  last  words  his  hand  came  again  upon  her  cheek 
and  turned  her  face  gently  toward  his.  His  lips  sealed 
his  betrothal  to  her  with  a  reverent  passion  of  pledging 
which  told  her,  more  plainly  than  any  words  could  have 


374  RED  AND  BLACK 

done,  that  that  life  of  his  was  now  fully  hers.  It  was  the 
life  of  no  pale  saint,  she  well  knew,  but  that  of  a  man  whose 
blood  was  red  and  swift-flowing,  whose  pulses  beat  as  fast 
and  humanly  as  her  own.  But  he  had  chosen  to  devote 
that  virile  life  to  service  in  the  Church,  with  the  same  ar 
dour  with  which,  during  these  months  just  past,  he  had 
given  of  his  best  to  help  defeat  the  enemies  of  that  Church 
and  all  for  which  it  stands.  No  fear  for  her  now  that 
service  with  him  back  on  the  old  home  grounds  would  be 
dull  or  tame  or  weak;  it  would  call  for  the  best  she  had  to 
give.  And  she  would  give  it,  oh,  but  she  would  give  it? 
She  knew,  at  last,  that  no  task  of  his  in  that  service  could 
seem  to  her  uncongenial,  if  to  him  it  was  worth  while. 

As  they  walked  slowly  back  up  the  long,  quiet  nave,  it 
was  as  from  some  high  rite.  At  the  door  Robert  Black 
turned  and  looked  back  into  the  dim  distance  of  the  great 
vaulted  interior.  Then  he  looked  down  into  Jane's  face. 

"It's  done,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  which  lighted  his  eyes 
into  altars  upon  which  burned  holy  fires  of  love  and  joy. 
"and  never  can  be  undone.  And  when  you're  home 
again — oh,  please  promise  me — we'll  have — the  rest  of  it 
— without  any  delay  at  all?" 

"I  promise."  The  smile  she  gave  him  back,  he  thought, 
was  the  most  beautiful  thing  he  had  ever  seen. 

At  the  door  of  the  little  house  under  the  shadow  of  the 
great  Abbey,  Miss  Stoughton  met  them  with  a  message* 
sent  in  haste  from  Dr.  John  Leaver,  forwarding  Black's 
orders  to  sail  that  night. 

"But  if,"  he  said,  standing  with  Jane  at  the  last  mo 
ment,  alone  with  her  in  the  small  drawing  room,  "by  any 
strange  happening  this  should  be  all  that  we  ever  had  of 
each  other  in  this  life,  we  have  had — it  all!  Jane,  we  have 
had  it  all — all  the  best  of  it!" 


IN  HIS  NAME  375 

"Yes!"  she  breathed  it.  "But"— she  lifted  her  face 
and  whispered  it — "I  want — a  life-time  to  say  that  in!" 

"So  do  I — bless  you! — and  we  shall  have  it — somehow 
I'm  very  sure.  God  keep  you  safe,  my  Best  Beloved,  I 
know  He  will!" 

Then  he  went  away,  limping  a  very  little  with  his  cane, 
but  walking  very  erect  and  looking  as  if  he  had  won  all 
the  wars  of  all  the  worlds.  He  could  hardly  have  been  so 
happy  if  he  had. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE  TOWN  WAS  EMPTY  BEFORE 

OF  course  I'm  going  down  to  New  York  to  see  him  in ! " 
shouted  Dr.  Redfield  Pepper  Burns.  He  waved  a 
cable  message  in  his  good  right  hand.  "What  did  I  wire 
Leaver  to  wire  me  the  date  for,  if  not  so  I  could  be  on  the 

pier  yelling  when  that  darn  chaplain  of  the nth  gets 

in?  Why,  if  Gary  Ray's  word  is  to  be  trusted,  Black's 
come  through  hell,  same  as  the  rest  of  'em.  Be  there? 
You  bet  I'll  be  there." 

He  was  there.  Nothing  could  have  stopped  him.  He 
wanted  to  see  instantly  for  himself  that  those  shoulder  and 
thigh  injuries  of  which  Leaver  had  written  were  not  going 
to  leave  any  serious  or  permanent  results.  Besides — oh, 
yes,  he  wanted  to  see  the  man  himself,  his  friend, — who 
had  faced  death  for  him,  as  every  soldier  who  went  had 
faced  it,  for  those  who  were  left  behind.  He  wanted  to  see 
Robert  McPherson  Black,  and  look  into  those  keen,  dark 
eyes  of  his,  and  see  break  over  the  well-remembered  clean- 
cut  face  that  smile  which  Red  knew  the  first  wave  of  his 
arm  would  bring. 

People  on  that  pier  had  to  make  way  when  a  certain 
chaplain  came  down  the  gangway.  A  big  man  with  a 
red  head  politely  but  irresistibly  put  them  aside  from  his 
path,  and  they  saw  him  grasp  the  chaplain's  hand.  They 
didn't  hear  much,  but  they  saw  that  two  friends  had  met. 

376 


THE  TOWN  WAS  EMPTY  BEFORE    377 

The  very  silence  of  that  first  instant  told  the  story  of  a 
glad  reunion. 

Later,  the  words  came  fast  enough.  When  Red  could 
get  Black  to  himself  his  first  questions  were  pointedly 
professional.  Satisfied  upon  the  items  he  had  wished 
made  clear,  he  turned  his  attention  to  making  his  welcome 
manifest. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  think  I've  lost  my  head,"  he  said, 
in  the  taxicab  which  was  taking  the  two  men  to  their 
train.  Black  was  on  furlough;  the  way  had  been  made 
clear  for  him  to  go  at  once,  though  he  was  to  rejoin  his 
regiment  when  it  came  home  later,  pending  his  and  his 
men's  discharge.  "But  I'm  just  so  plain  glad  to  have  you 
back  I've  got  to  say  it,  and  say  it  out  loud.  I  knew  well 
enough  when  you  went  you  wouldn't  play  safe,  over  there 
— and  you  haven't." 

"Just  how  much  use,"  inquired  Black,  looking  him 
straight  in  the  eye,  "would  you  have  had  forme  if  I  had?" 

"Not  much." 

"Well,    then " 

The  two  laughed,  as  men  do  when  there  is  real  emo 
tion  behind  the  laughter.  Red  let  his  welcome  go  at  that 
for  the  present,  and  plunged  into  talk  about  the  armistice 
and  the  present  condition  of  things.  But  late  that  night, 
when  Black  having  reached  the  haven  of  Red's  home,  after 
a  quick  journey  by  the  fastest  train  over  the  shortest 
route,  was  sent  to  his  room  at  what  Red  considered  a 
proper  hour — midnight — he  had  wanted  to  sit  up  until 
morning,  but  he  considered  Black  still  a  convalescent, 
and  now  in  his  charge — Red  gave  his  friend  his  real  wel 
come.  To  this  day  Black  preserves  a  scrawl  upon  a  certain 
professional  prescription  blank,  which  was  pushed  under 
his  door  that  night  just  before  he  switched  off  his  light. 


378  RED  AND  BLACK 

All  the  evening  he  had  been  made  to  feel  how  they  all 
cared.  Mrs.  Burns  had  given  him  the  most  satisfying 
of  greetings;  the  Macauleys  had  rushed  in  to  see  him; 
Samuel  Lockhart  had  called  him  upon  the  telephone  to 
make  an  appointment  for  the  morning.  His  whole  parish 
would  have  been  in  to  wring  his  hand  if  Red  had  not 
kept  his  actual  arrival  a  secret  for  that  night  except  to  these 
chosen  few.  But  nothing  that  anybody  said  or  did  gave 
him  half  the  joy  that  he  found  in  those  few  words  written 
slantwise  across  the  little  white  slip  with  R.  P.  Burns 
name  and  address  printed  at  the  top  and  no  signature  at 
all  at  the  bottom.  Considering  that  day,  now  almost  three 
years  back,  when  Robert  Black  had  first  looked  across  the 
space  between  pulpit  and  pew  and  coveted  the  red-headed 
doctor  for  his  friend,  and  taking  into  account  all  the  dif 
ficulties  he  had  found  in  getting  past  the  barriers  Red  had 
set  up  against  him,  it  was  not  strange  that  his  heart  gave 
one  big,  glad  throb  of  exultation  as  he  read  these  words: — 

"  The  town  was  empty  before — it's  full  now,  though  not 
another  blamed  beggar  comes  into  it  to-night." 

Two  months  later  Jane  came  home,  to  find  Cary  there 
before  her,  with  Fanny  as  his  bride.  They  had  been  mar 
ried  in  Paris,  "with  all  the  thrills,"  as  Cary  said,  beaming 
proudly  upon  the  slender  figure  in  the  French  frock  beside 
him,  as  he  described  the  wedding  to  his  sister.  A  few 
days  later  Robert  Black  and  Jane  Ray  themselves  were 
quietly  married  at  the  home  of  Dr.  Redfield  Pepper  Burns 
and  went  at  once  to  the  manse,  which  had  been  made 
ready  for  them  by  the  united  efforts  of  Mrs.  Burns,  Miss 
Lockhart  and  Mrs.  Hodder,  Black's  former  housekeeper. 

At  the  wedding  breakfast,  Cary,  self-appointed  master  of 


''  'So  here's  to  Dr.  Redfield  Pepper  Burns,  bearer  of  a 
heavier  cross  than  I  have  ever  borne,  and  winner  of  one 
more  shining  .  .  .' ' 


THE  TOWN  WAS  EMPTY  BEFORE    379 

ceremonies,  rose  in  his  place.  He  looked  around  at  the 
little  company,  his  eyes  resting  first  on  one  and  then 
another,  till  he  had  swept  the  circle.  Then  he  made  a 
speech,  which  he  always  afterward  asserted  to  be  his 
masterpiece  in  the  way  of  rhetorical  effort,  struck  off,  as 
it  was,  on  the  inspiration  of  the  hour. 

Getting  up  in  the  correspondent's  uniform  which  it  had 
pleased  him  to  put  on  once  more  for  the  occasion,  since 
Black,  as  yet  undischarged,  was  obliged  still  to  wear  the 
olive-drab  with  the  cross  upon  the  collar,  Gary  began: — 

"In  view  of  the  fact  that  the  bridegroom  is  still  in  O.  D., 
it  seems  to  me  that  it  ought  to  be  known  to  you  people 
what  it  looks  as  if  he  never  meant  to  tell  you  for  himself 
It's  only  by  chance  that  I  found  it  out,  but,  by  George  1 
I'm  going  to  tell  you,  since  he  won't." 

He  walked  around  to  Black,  and  laid  hand  upon  the 
topmost  button  of  his  new  brother-in-law's  tunic.  Black 
put  up  a  hand  and  attempted  to  restrain  him,  but  it  could 
not  be  done,  without  a  fight.  He  therefore  submitted, 
the  colour  rising  in  his  cheek,  while  Gary  unfastened  the 
tunic  and  threw  back  its  left  side,  whereupon  a  certain 
famous  war  medal  for  distinguished  service  became  visible. 

"My  faith!"  burst  from  Red's  lips.  "I  knew  it!  But 
I  never  dared  ask." 

"The  wearer  of  this,"  Gary  went  on,  while  Black's  eyes 
fell  before  the  glow  of  joy  he  had  caught  in  Jane's,  "went 
over  the  top  with  his  men  every  blooming  time  they  went, 
till  Fritz  finally  got  him.  But  before  the  shrapnel  that 
put  him  out  at  last  left  the  guns  he  had  brought  in  wounded 
under  every  sort  of  hot  fire,  had  taken  every  chance  there 
was,  and  that  last  day — turned  the  trick  that  brought  him 

this, "  and  Gary  laid  a  reverent  hand  upon  the  medal. 

"It  happened  this  way " 


38o  RED  AND  BLACK 

"No — please! "  began  Black  quickly,  turning  in 

protest.  "Not  now — nor  here " 

But  Gary  wouldn't  be  restrained.  "Now — and  here, 
by  your  leave,  Bob,  or  without  it.  I  won't  go  into  details, 
if  you  don't  like  me  to,  but  I  will  say  this  much:  The 
story  concerns  a  machine  gun  on  our  side  which  had  lost 
its  last  gunner,  trying  to  put  out  a  machine-gun  nest  of  the 
enemy's  which  was  enfilading  our  men  and  mowing  them 
down.  This  Bob  Black  of  ours  comes  up,  jumps  in,  and 
keeps  things  going  all  by  himself  till — the  spit-fire  over 
there  was  silenced.  It  may  not  have  been  the  proper  deed 
for  the  chaplain — I  don't  know — but  I  do  know  that  he 
saved  ten  times  more  lives  than  he  took — and  I  say — 
here's  to  him — and  God  bless  him ! " 

The  toast  to  which  all  had  risen  was  drunk  in  a  quiver 
ing  silence,  with  Jane's  hand  upon  her  husband's  shoulder, 
and  her  proud  and  beautiful  eyes  meeting  his  with  a  glance 
which  said  it  all. 

Then  Black  rose.  "Sometime,  Gary,"  he  said,  with  a 
glance,  "I'll  be  even  with  you  for  this.  Sometime  I  shall 
have  found  out  all  the  chances  you  took,  and  I'll  recite 
them  on  some  public  occasion  and  make  you  wince  as  you 
never  winced  under  shot  and  shell.  But  while  we  are 
drinking  toasts — in  this  crystal  clear  water  of  our  wedding 
feast  which  is  better  than  any  wine  for  such  an  hour — 
I  want  to  propose  one  which  is  very  near  my  heart.  Not 
all  the  war  medals  that  ever  were  struck  would  be  big 
enough  or  fine  enough  to  pin  upon  some  of  the  breasts 
that  most  deserved  them.  One  man  I  know,  who  desper 
ately  wanted  to  go  across  and  take  his  part  in  the  salvag 
ing  of  life  from  the  wreck,  but  couldn't  go,  nevertheless 
contributed  one  of  the  most  efficient  means  to  saving  life 
that  has  been  used  by  some  of  the  best  surgeons  there. 


THE  TOWN  WAS  EMPTY  BEFORE    381 

And  I  want  to  say — 'here  and  now' — as  Gary  says — that 
I  consider  it  took  more  gallantry  on  the  part  of  this  same 
red-headed — and  red-blooded — fellow  to  stay  here  and 
carry  on,  as  he  did,  with  speeches  and  loan-raising,  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  unthanked  tasks  that  he  put  through 
at  heavy  cost  to  his  own  endurance,  than  to  have  gone 
across,  as  he  longed  to  do,  and  won  medals  by  spectacular 
work  that  would  have  made  his  name  famous  on  both 
sides  of  the  water.  So  here's  to  Dr.  Redfield  Pepper 
Burns,  bearer  of  a  heavier  cross  than  I  have  ever  borne, — 
and  winner  of  one  more  shining.  And  I,  too,  say — God 
bless  him!" 

They  looked  into  each  others'  eyes,  these  two,  across  the 
table,  and  Red's  eyes  fell  before  the  light  that  was  in 
Black's.  It  was  not  only  the  light  that  his  wedding  day 
had  brought  there,  it  was  the  light  of  a  friendship  which 
should  last  throughout  these  two  men's  lives,  and  bless 
both,  all  the  way. 


THE    END 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN   CITY,   N.  Y. 


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